THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

Gift  of 
Neil  C.  Needham 


Exotics  and  Retrospectives 


EXOTICS  AND 
RETROSPECTIVES 

.     BY  LAFCADIO  HEARN 

LECTURER  ON  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 
IN  THE  IMPERIAL  UNIVERSITY.  TOKYO 


AUTHOR  OF  "OUT  OF  THE  EAST." 
"GLIMPSES  OF  UNFAMILIAR  JAPAN,"&e. 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,   BROWN,   AND   COMPANY 
1914 


Copyright,  1898 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  Ca 


AUrifhts  rtttrvid 


8.  Jt  r ABKHILL  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


College 
Library 

PS 


AL  but  one  of  the  papers  composing  this 
volume  appear  for  the  first  time.  The 
little  essays,  or  rather  fantasies,  forming 
the  second  part  of  the  book,  deal  with  experiences 
in  two  hemispheres ;  but  their  general  title  should 
explain  why  they  have  been  arranged  independ 
ently  of  that  fact.  To  any  really  scientific  im 
agination,  the  curious  analogy  existing  between 
certain  teachings  of  evolutional  psychology  and 
certain  teachings  of  Eastern  faith, —  particularly 
the  Buddhist  doctrine  that  all  sense-life  is  Karma, 
and  all  substance  only  the  phenomenal  result  of 
acts  and  thoughts,  —  might  have  suggested  some 
thing  much  more  significant  than  my  cluster  of 
Retrospectives.  These  are  offered  merely  as  in- 
timations  of  a  truth  incomparably  less  difficult  to 

recognize  than  to  define. 

L.H. 

TOKYO,  JAPAN, 

February  75,  1898. 


882978 


Contents 


EXOTICS:—  PAGE 

I.  FUJI-NO-YAMA 3 

II.  INSECT-MUSICIANS      39 

III.  A  QUESTION  IN  THE  ZEN  TEXTS 83 

IV.  THE  LITERATURE  OF  THE  DEAD 95 

V.  FROGS 157 

VI.  OF  MOON-DESIRE 175 

RETROSPECTIVES:  — 

I.  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS 187 

II.  BEAUTY  is  MEMORY 199 

III.  SADNESS  IN  BEAUTY 211 

IV.  PARFUM  DE  JEUNESSE 221 

V.  AZURE  PSYCHOLOGY 227 

VI.  A  SERENADE 241 

VII.  A  RED  SUNSET       251 

VIII.  FRISSON 263 

IX.  VESPERTINA  COGNITIO 275 

X.  THE  ETERNAL  HAUNTER 293 


List  of  Illustrations 

Full  Page 

PAGB 

INSECT  CAGES 51 

1.  A  Form  of  Insect  Cage. 

2.  Cage  for  Large  Musical  Insects. 

3.  Cage  for  Small  Musical  Insects. 

GATE  OF  KOBUDERA 97 

TOMB  IN  KOBUDERA,  showing  Sotoba 102 

TOMB  IN  KOBUDERA,  sculptured  with  image  of  Bodhi- 

sattva  Mahasthama 137 

Illustrations  in  the  Text 

KANETATAKI  ("  The  Bell-Ringer "),  natural  size  .    .    .  57 

MATSUMUSHI,  slightly  enlarged 60 

SUZUMUSHI,  slightly  enlarged 63 

UMAOI,  natural  size 67 

KIRIGIRISU,  natural  size 68 

KUSA-HIBARI,  natural  size 69 

YAMATO-SUZU  ("Little-Bell  of  Yamato "), natural  size  69 

KIN-HIBARI,  natural  size 70 

KURO-HIBARI,  natural  size 70 

EMMA-KOROGI,  natural  size 71 

EMMA-KOROGI 72 

KUTSUWAMUSHI,  natural  size 73 

KANTAN,  natural  size 75 


Exotics 


—  "  Even  the  worst  tea  Is  sweet  when  first  made  from  the  new 
leaf."  —Japanese  proverb. 


Hxotics  and  Retrospectives 


Fuji-no-Yama 

Kite  mire"ba, 
Sahodo  made  nashi, 
Fuji  no  Yama  ! 

Seen  on  close  approach,  the  mountain  of  Fuji  does  not 
come  up  to  expectation.  —  Japanese  proverbial  philosophy. 

THE  most  beautiful  sight  in  Japan,  and  cer 
tainly  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  the 
world,  is  the  distant  apparition  of  Fuji  on 
cloudless  days,  —  more  especially  days  of  spring 
and  autumn,  when  the  greater  part  of  the  peak 
is  covered  with  late  or  with  early  snows.  You 
can  seldom  distinguish  the  snowless  base,  which 
remains  the  same  color  as  the  sky  :  you  perceive 
only  the  white  cone  seeming  to  hang  in  heaven  ; 
and  the  Japanese  comparison  of  its  shape  to  an 
inverted  half  -open  fan  is  made  wonderfully  exact 
by  the  fine  streaks  that  spread  downward  from 
the  notched  top,  like  shadows  of  fan-ribs.  Even 


4        Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

lighter  than  a  fan  the  vision  appears,  —  rather 
the  ghost  or  dream  of  a  fan ;  —  yet  the  material 
reality  a  hundred  miles  away  is  grandiose  among 
the  mountains  of  the  globe.  Rising  to  a  height 
of  nearly  12,500  feet,  Fuji  is  visible  from  thirteen 
provinces  of  the  Empire.  Nevertheless  it  is  one 
of  the  easiest  of  lofty  mountains  to  climb ;  and 
for  a  thousand  years  it  has  been  scaled  every 
summer  by  multitudes  of  pilgrims.  For  it  is 
not  only  a  sacred  mountain,  but  the  most  sacred 
mountain  of  Japan, — the  holiest  eminence  of 
the  land  that  is  called  Divine, — the  Supreme 
Altar  of  the  Sun ;  —  and  to  ascend  it  at  least  once 
in  a  life -time  is  the  duty  of  all  who  reverence 
the  ancient  gods.  So  from  every  district  of  the 
Empire  pilgrims  annually  wend  their  way  to 
Fuji ;  and  in  nearly  all  the  provinces  there  are 
pilgrim-societies  —  Fuji-Ko,  —  organized  for  the 
purpose  of  aiding  those  desiring  to  visit  the 
sacred  peak.  If  this  act  of  faith  cannot  be  per 
formed  by  everybody  in  person,  it  can  at  least 
be  performed  by  proxy.  Any  hamlet,  however 
remote,  can  occasionally  send  one  representative 
to  pray  before  the  shrine  of  the  divinity  of  Fuji, 
and  to  salute  the  rising  sun  from  that  sublime 
eminence.  Thus  a  single  company  of  Fuji- 


Fuji-no-Yama  !> 

pilgrims  may  be  composed  of  men  from  a  hun 
dred  different  settlements. 

By  both  of  the  national  religions  Fuji  is  held  in 
reverence.  The  Shinto  deity  of  Fuji  is  the  beau 
tiful  goddess  Ko-no-hana-saku-ya-hime,  —  she 
who  brought  forth  her  children  in  fire  without 
pain,  and  whose  name  signifies  "  Radiant-bloom- 
ing-as-the-flowers-of -the -trees,"  or,  according  to 
some  commentators,  "  Causing-the-flowers-to- 
blossom-brightly."  On  the  summit  is  her 
temple ;  and  in  ancient  books  it  is  recorded  that 
mortal  eyes  have  beheld  her  hovering,  like  a 
luminous  cloud,  above  the  verge  of  the  crater. 
Her  viewless  servants  watch  and  wait  by  the 
precipices  to  hurl  down  whomsoever  presumes 
to  approach  her  shrine  with  unpurified  heart. . . . 
Buddhism  loves  the  grand  peak  because  its  form 
is  like  the  white  bud  of  the  Sacred  Flower, — 
and  because  the  eight  cusps  of  its  top,  like  the 
eight  petals  of  the  Lotos,  symbolize  the  Eight 
Intelligences  of  Perception,  Purpose,  Speech, 
Conduct,  Living,  Effort,  Mindfulness,  and  Con 
templation. 

But  the  legends  and  traditions  about  Fuji,  the 
stories  of  its  rising  out  of  the  earth  in  a  single 
night,  —  of  the  shower  of  pierced -jewels  once 


6        Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

flung  down  from  it, — of  the  first  temple  built 
upon  its  summit  eleven  hundred  years  ago,  —  of 
the  Luminous  Maiden  that  lured  to  the  crater 
an  Emperor  who  was  never  seen  afterward,  but  is 
still  worshipped  at  a  little  shrine  erected  on  the 
place  of  his  vanishing,  —  of  the  sand  that  daily 
rolled  down  by  pilgrim  feet  nightly  reascends  to 
its  former  position,  —  have  not  all  these  things 
been  written  in  books  ?  There  is  really  very  little 
left  for  me  to  tell  about  Fuji  except  my  own 
experience  of  climbing  it. 

I  made  the  ascent  by  way  of  Gotemba,  —  the 
least  picturesque,  but  perhaps  also  the  least  diffi 
cult  of  the  six  or  seven  routes  open  to  choice. 
Gotemba  is  a  little  village  chiefly  consisting  of 
pilgrim-inns.  You  reach  it  from  Tokyo  in  about 
three  hours  by  the  Tokaido  railway,  which  rises 
for  miles  as  it  approaches  the  neighborhood  of 
the  mighty  volcano.  Gotemba  is  considerably 
more  than  two  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
therefore  comparatively  cool  in  the  hottest  season. 
The  open  country  about  it  slopes  to  Fuji ;  but  the 
slope  is  so  gradual  that  the  table-land  seems 
almost  level  to  the  eye.  From  Gotemba  in  per- 
fectly  clear  weather  the  mountain  looks  uncom 
fortably  near,  —  formidable  by  proximity,  — 


Fuji-no-Yama  7 

though  actually  miles  away.  During  the  rainy 
season  it  may  appear  and  disappear  alternately 
many  times  in  one  day,  —  like  an  enormous 
spectre.  But  on  the  grey  August  morning  when 
I  entered  Gotemba  as  a  pilgrim,  the  landscape 
was  muffled  in  vapors;  and  Fuji  was  totally 
invisible.  I  arrived  too  late  to  attempt  the  ascent 
on  the  same  day  ;  but  I  made  my  preparations  at 
once  for  the  day  following,  and  engaged  a  couple 
of  gortki  ("  strong-pull  men  "),  or  experienced 
guides.  I  felt  quite  secure  on  seeing  their  broad 
honest  faces  and  sturdy  bearing.  They  supplied 
me  with  a  pilgrim-staff,  heavy  blue  tabi  (that  is 
to  say,  cleft -stockings,  to  be  used  with  sandals),  a 
straw  hat  shaped  like  Fuji,  and  the  rest  of  a 
pilgrim's  outfit;  —  telling  me  to  be  ready  to 
start  with  them  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

What  is  hereafter  set  down  consists  of  notes 
taken  on  the  journey,  but  afterwards  amended 
and  expanded,  —  for  notes  made  while  climbing 
are  necessarily  hurried  and  imperfect. 


8        Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

1 

August  24th,  1897. 

From  strings  stretched  above  the  balcony  upon 
which  my  inn-room  opens,  hundreds  of  towels 
are  hung  like  flags,  —  blue  towels  and  white, 
having  printed  upon  them  in  Chinese  characters 
the  names  of  pilgrim -companies  and  of  the 
divinity  of  Fuji.  These  are  gifts  to  the  house, 
and  serve  as  advertisements.  .  .  .  Raining  from 
a  uniformly  grey  sky.  Fuji  always  invisible. 

August  2$th. 

3:30  a.  m.  —  No  sleep ;  —  tumult  all  night 
of  parties  returning  late  from  the  mountain,  or 
arriving  for  the  pilgrimage  ;  —  constant  clapping 
of  hands  to  summon  servants ;  —  banqueting  and 
singing  in  the  adjoining  chambers,  with  alarming 
bursts  of  laughter  every  few  minutes.  .  .  . 
Breakfast  of  soup,  fish,  and  rice.  Goriki  arrive 
in  professional  costume,  and  find  me  ready. 
Nevertheless  they  insist  that  I  shall  undress  again 
and  put  on  heavy  underclothing  ;  —  warning  me 
that  even  when  it  is  Doyo  (the  period  of  greatest 
summer  heat)  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  it  is 


Fuji-no-Yama  9 

Daikan  (the  period  of  greatest  winter  cold)  at 
the  top.  Then  they  start  in  advance,  carrying 
provisions  and  bundles  of  heavy  clothing.  .  .  . 
A  kuruma  waits  for  me,  with  three  runners,  — 
two  to  pull,  and  one  to  push,  as  the  work  will  be 
hard  uphill.  By  kuruma  I  can  go  to  the  height 
of  five  thousand  feet. 

Morning  black  and  slightly  chill,  with  fine 
rain ;  but  I  shall  soon  be  above  the  rain-clouds. 
.  .  .  The  lights  of  the  town  vanish  behind  us ; 

—  the  kuruma  is  rolling  along  a  country -road. 
Outside  of  the  swinging  penumbra  made  by  the 
paper-lantern  of  the  foremost  runner,  nothing 
is  clearly  visible ;  but  I  can  vaguely  distinguish 
silhouettes  of  trees  and,  from  time  to  time,  of 
houses,  —  peasants'  houses  with  steep  roofs. 

Grey  wan  light  slowly  suffuses  the  moist 
air ;  —  day  is  dawning  through  drizzle.  .  :  . 
Gradually  the  landscape  defines  with  its  colors. 
The  way  lies  through  thin  woods.  Occasionally 
we  pass  houses  with  high  thatched  roofs  that 
look  like  farmhouses ;  but  cultivated  land  is 
nowhere  visible.  .  .  . 

Open  country  with  scattered  clumps  of  trees, 

—  larch  and  pine.    Nothing  in  the  horizon  but 


10      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

scraggy  tree-tops  above  what  seems  to  be  the  rim 
of  a  vast  down.  No  sign  whatever  of  Fuji.  .  .  . 
For  the  first  time  I  notice  that  the  road  is  black, 
—  black  sand  and  cinders  apparently,  volcanic 
cinders :  the  wheels  of  the  kuruma  and  the  feet 
of  the  runners  sink  into  it  with  a  crunching 
sound. 

The  rain  has  stopped,  and  the  sky  becomes 
a  clearer  grey.  .  .  .  The  trees  decrease  in  size 
and  number  as  we  advance. 

What  I  have  been  taking  for  the  horizon,  in 
front  of  us,  suddenly  breaks  open,  and  begins  to 
roll  smokily  away  to  left  and  right.  In  the  great 
rift  part  of  a  dark- blue  mass  appears,  —  a  portion 
of  Fuji.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  the  sun 
pierces  the  clouds  behind  us ;  but  the  road  now 
enters  a  copse  covering  the  base  of  a  low  ridge, 
and  the  view  is  cut  off.  ...  Halt  at  a  little 
house  among  the  trees,  —  a  pilgrims'  resting- 
place, —  and  there  find  the  goriki,  who  have 
advanced  much  more  rapidly  than  my  runners, 
waiting  for  us.  Buy  eggs,  which  a  goriki  rolls 
up  in  a  narrow  strip  of  straw  matting ;  —  tying 
the  matting  tightly  with  straw  cord  between  the 
eggs,  —  so  that  the  string  of  eggs  has  somewhat 


Fuji-no- Yama  11 

the  appearance  of  a  string  of  sausages.  .  .  . 
Hire  a  horse. 


Sky  clears  as  we  proceed;  —  white  sunlight 
floods  everything.  Road  reascends;  and  we 
emerge  again  on  the  moorland.  And,  right  in 
front,  Fuji  appears,  —  naked  to  the  summit,  — 
stupendous,  —  startling  as  if  newly  risen  from 
the  earth.  Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful. 
A  vast  blue  cone,  —  warm-blue,  almost  violet 
through  the  vapors  not  yet  lifted  by  the  sun, 
—  with  two  white  streaklets  near  the  top  which 
are  great  gullies  full  of  snow,  though  they  look 
from  here  scarcely  an  inch  long.  But  the  charm 
of  the  apparition  is  much  less  the  charm  of  color 
than  of  symmetry,  —  a  symmetry  of  beautiful 
bending  lines  with  a  curve  like  the  curve  of  a 
cable  stretched  over  a  space  too  wide  to  allow  of 
pulling  taut.  (This  comparison  did  not  at  once 
suggest  itself :  The  first  impression  given  me  by 
the  grace  of  those  lines  was  an  impression  of 
femininity ;  —  I  found  myself  thinking  of  some 
exquisite  sloping  of  shoulders  towards  the  neck.) 
I  can  imagine  nothing  more  difficult  to  draw  at 
sight.  But  the  Japanese  artist,  through  his  mar 
vellous  skill  with  the  writing-brush, — the  skill 


12       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

inherited  from  generations  of  calligraphists, — 
easily  faces  the  riddle :  he  outlines  the  silhouette 
with  two  flowing  strokes  made  in  the  fraction  of 
a  second,  and  manages  to  hit  the  exact  truth  of 
the  curves,  —  much  as  a  professional  archer  might 
hit  a  mark,  without  consciously  taking  aim, 
through  long  exact  habit  of  hand  and  eye. 


II 


I  see  the  goriki  hurrying  forward  far  away,  — 
one  of  them  carrying  the  eggs  round  his  neck ! 
.  .  .  Now  there  are  no  more  trees  worthy  of  the 
name,  —  only  scattered  stunted  growths  resem 
bling  shrubs.  The  black  road  curves  across  a  vast 
grassy  down ;  and  here  and  there  I  see  large  black 
patches  in  the  green  surface,  —  bare  spaces  of  ashes 
and  scoriae ;  showing  that  this  thin  green  skin 
covers  some  enormous  volcanic  deposit  of  recent 
date.  ...  As  a  matter  of  history,  all  this  district 
was  buried  two  yards  deep  in  1 707  by  an  eruption 
from  the  side  of  Fuji.  Even  in  far-off  Tokyo 
the  rain  of  ashes  covered  roofs  to  a  depth  of  six 
teen  centimetres.  There  are  no  farms  in  this 
region,  because  there  is  little  true  soil ;  and  there 


Fuji-no- Yama  13 

is  no  water.  But  volcanic  destruction  is  not  eter 
nal  destruction ;  eruptions  at  last  prove  fertilizing  ; 
and  the  divine  "  Princess-who-causes-the-flowers- 
to-blossom-brightly  "  will  make  this  waste  to  smile 
again  in  future  hundreds  of  years. 

.  .  .  The  black  openings  in  the  green  surface 
become  more  numerous  and  larger.  A  few 
dwarf -shrubs  still  mingle  with  the  coarse  grass.  .  .  . 
The  vapors  are  lifting ;  and  Fuji  is  changing  color. 
It  is  no  longer  a  glowing  blue,  but  a  dead  sombre 
blue.  Irregularities  previously  hidden  by  rising 
ground  appear  in  the  lower  part  of  the  grand 
curves.  One  of  these  to  the  left,  —  shaped  like 
a  camel's  hump,  —  represents  the  focus  of  the  last 
great  eruption. 

The  land  is  not  now  green  with  black  patches, 
but  black  with  green  patches;  and  the  green 
patches  dwindle  visibly  in  the  direction  of  the 
peak.  The  shrubby  growths  have  disappeared. 
The  wheels  of  the  kuruma,  and  the  feet  of  the 
runners  sink  deeper  into  the  volcanic  sand.  .  .  . 
The  horse  is  now  attached  to  the  kuruma  with 
ropes,  and  I  am  able  to  advance  more  rapidly. 
Still  the  mountain  seems  far  away;  but  we  are 
really  running  up  its  flank  at  a  height  of  more 
than  five  thousand  feet. 


14       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Fuji  has  ceased  to  be  blue  of  any  shade.  It  is 
black, — charcoal-black,  —  a  frightful  extinct  heap 
of  visible  ashes  and  cinders  and  slaggy  lava.  .  .  . 
Most  of  the  green  has  disappeared.  Likewise  all 
of  the  illusion.  The  tremendous  naked  black 
reality,  —  always  becoming  more  sharply,  more 
grimly,  more  atrociously  defined,  —  is  a  stupefac 
tion,  a  nightmare.  .  .  .  Above  —  miles  above  — 
the  snow  patches  glare  and  gleam  against  that 
blackness,  —  hideously.  I  think  of  a  gleam  of 
white  teeth  I  once  saw  in  a  skull,  —  a  woman's 
skull,  —  otherwise  burnt  to  a  sooty  crisp. 

So  one  of  the  fairest,  if  not  the  fairest  of  earthly 
visions,  resolves  itself  into  a  spectacle  of  horror 
and  death.  .  .  .  But  have  not  all  human  ideals 
of  beauty,  like  the  beauty  of  Fuji  seen  from  afar, 
been  created  by  forces  of  death  and  pain  ?  —  are 
not  all,  in  their  kind,  but  composites  of  death, 
beheld  in  retrospective  through  the  magical  haze 
of  inherited  memory? 


Fuji-no- Yama 


ill 


The  green  has  utterly  vanished ;  —  all  is  black. 
There  is  no  road,  —  only  the  broad  waste  of 
black  sand  sloping  and  narrowing  up  to  those 
dazzling,  grinning  patches  of  snow.  But  there 
is  a  track,  —  a  yellowish  track  made  by  thou 
sands  and  thousands  of  cast-off  sandals  of  straw 
(waraji) ,  flung  aside  by  pilgrims.  Straw  sandals 
quickly  wear  out  upon  this  black  grit ;  and  every 
pilgrim  carries  several  pair  for  the  journey.  Had 
I  to  make  the  ascent  alone,  I  could  find  the  path 
by  following  that  wake  of  broken  sandals,  —  a 
yellow  streak  zigzagging  up  out  of  sight  across 
the  blackness. 

6 : 40  a.m.  —  We  reach  Tarobo,  first  of  the 
ten  stations,  on  the  ascent :  height,  6000  feet. 
The  station  is  a  large  wooden  house,  of  which 
two  rooms  have  been  fitted  up  as  a  shop  for  the 
sale  of  staves,  hats,  raincoats,  sandals,  —  every 
thing  pilgrims  need.  I  find  there  a  peripatetic 
photographer  offering  for  sale  photographs  of 
the  mountain  which  are  really  very  good  as 
well  as  very  cheap.  .  .  .  Here  the  goriki  take 


16      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

their  first  meal;  and  I  rest.  The  kuruma  can 
go  no  further ;  and  I  dismiss  my  three  runners, 
but  keep  the  horse,  —  a  docile  and  surefooted 
creature;  for  I  can  venture  to  ride  him  up  to 
Ni-go-goseki,  or  Station  No.  2>£. 

Start  for  No.  2^  up  the  slant  of  black  sand, 
keeping  the  horse  at  a  walk.  No.  2^  is  shut  up 
for  the  season.  .  .  .  Slope  now  becomes  steep 
as  a  stairway,  and  further  riding  would  be  dan 
gerous.  Alight  and  make  ready  for  the  climb. 
Cold  wind  blowing  so  strongly  that  I  have  to  tie 
on  my  hat  tightly.  One  of  the  goriki  unwinds 
from  about  his  waist  a  long  stout  cotton  girdle, 
and  giving  me  one  end  to  hold,  passes  the  other 
over  his  shoulder  for  the  pull.  Then  he  proceeds 
over  the  sand  at  an  angle,  with  a  steady  short 
step,  and  I  follow;  the  other  guide  keeping 
closely  behind  me  to  provide  against  any  slip. 

There  is  nothing  very  difficult  about  this  climb 
ing,  except  the  weariness  of  walking  through 
sand  and  cinders :  it  is  like  walking  over  dunes. 
.  .  .  We  mount  by  zigzags.  The  sand  moves 
with  the  wind;  and  I  have  a  slightly  nervous 
sense  —  the  feeling  only,  not  the  perception ;  for 
I  keep  my  eyes  on  the  sand,  —  of  height  growing 


Fuji-no- Yama  17 

above  depth.  .  .  .  Have  to  watch  my  steps  care 
fully,  and  to  use  my  staff  constantly,  as  the  slant 
is  now  very  steep.  .  .  .  We  are  in  a  white  fog, 
—  passing  through  clouds!  Even  if  I  wished 
to  look  back,  I  could  see  nothing  through  this 
vapor;  but  I  have  not  the  least  wish  to  look 
back.  The  wind  has  suddenly  ceased  —  cut  off, 
perhaps,  by  a  ridge ;  and  there  is  a  silence  that  I 
remember  from  West  Indian  days :  the  Peace  of 
High  Places.  It  is  broken  only  by  the  crunching 
of  the  ashes  beneath  our  feet.  I  can  distinctly 
hear  my  heart  beat.  .  .  .  The  guide  tells  me 
that  I  stoop  too  much,  —  orders  me  to  walk 
upright,  and  always  in  stepping  to  put  down  the 
heel  first.  I  do  this,  and  find  it  relieving.  But 
climbing  through  this  tiresome  mixture  of  ashes 
and  sand  begins  to  be  trying.  I  am  perspiring 
and  panting.  The  guide  bids  me  keep  my  hon 
orable  mouth  closed,  and  breathe  only  through 
my  honorable  nose. 

We  are  out  of  the  fog  again.  ...  All  at  once 
I  perceive  above  us,  at  a  little  distance,  some 
thing  like  a  square  hole  in  the  face  of  the 
mountain,  —  a  door !  It  is  the  door  of  the  third 
station,  —  a  wooden  hut  half -buried  in  black 


18       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

drift.  .  .  .  How  delightful  to  squat  again,  — 
even  in  a  blue  cloud  of  wood-smoke  and  under 
smoke-blackened  rafters !  Time,  8 : 30  a.  m. 
Height,  7,085  feet. 

In  spite  of  the  wood-smoke  the  station  is  com 
fortable  enough  inside ;  there  are  clean  mattings 
and  even  kneeling -cushions.  No  windows,  of 
course,  nor  any  other  opening  than  the  door; 
for  the  building  is  half -buried  in  the  flank  of  the 
mountain.  We  lunch.  .  .  .  The  station-keeper 
tells  us  that  recently  a  student  walked  from 
Gotemba  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  and  back 
again  —  in  geta !  Geta  are  heavy  wooden  san 
dals,  or  clogs,  held  to  the  foot  only  by  a  thong 
passing  between  the  great  and  the  second  toe. 
The  feet  of  that  student  must  have  been  made 
of  steel ! 

Having  rested,  I  go  out  to  look  around.  Far 
below  white  clouds  are  rolling  over  the  landscape 
in  huge  fluffy  wreaths.  Above  the  hut,  and 
actually  trickling  down  over  it,  the  sable  cone 
soars  to  the  sky.  But  the  amazing  sight  is  the 
line  of  the  monstrous  slope  to  the  left,  —  a  line 
that  now  shows  no  curve  whatever,  but  shoots 
down  below  the  clouds,  and  up  to  the  gods  only 


Fuji-no-Yama  19 

know  where  (for  I  cannot  see  the  end  of  it), 
straight  as  a  tightened  bowstring.  The  right  flank 
is  rocky  and  broken.  But  as  for  the  left,  —  I 
never  dreamed  it  possible  that  a  line  so  absolutely 
straight  and  smooth,  and  extending  for  so  enor 
mous  a  distance  at  such  an  amazing  angle,  could 
exist  even  in  a  volcano.  That  stupendous  pitch 
gives  me  a  sense  of  dizziness,  and  a  totally  un 
familiar  feeling  of  wonder.  Such  regularity  ap 
pears  unnatural,  frightful;  seems  even  artificial, 
—  but  artificial  upon  a  superhuman  and  demo 
niac  scale.  1  imagine  that  to  fall  thence  from 
above  would  be  to  fall  for  leagues.  Absolutely 
nothing  to  take  hold  of.  But  the  goriki  assure 
me  that  there  is  no  danger  on  that  slope :  it  is  all 
soft  sand. 


IV 

Though  drenched  with  perspiration  by  the  exer 
tion  of  the  first  climb,  I  am  already  dry,  and  cold. 
...  Up  again.  .  .  .  The  ascent  is  at  first  through 
ashes  and  sand  as  before ;  but  presently  large  stones 
begin  to  mingle  with  the  sand ;  and  the  way  is 
always  growing  steeper.  ...  I  constantly  slip. 


20       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

There  is  nothing  firm,  nothing  resisting  to  stand 
upon :  loose  stones  and  cinders  roll  down  at  every 
step.  .  .  .  If  a  big  lava-block  were  to  detach  itself 
from  above !  ...  In  spite  of  my  helpers  and  of 
the  staff,  I  continually  slip,  and  am  all  in  perspi 
ration  again.  Almost  every  stone  that  I  tread 
upon  turns  under  me.  How  is  it  that  no  stone 
ever  turns  under  the  feet  of  the  goriki?  They 
never  slip,  —  never  make  a  false  step,  —  never 
seem  less  at  ease  than  they  would  be  in  walking 
over  a  matted  floor.  Their  small  brown  broad  feet 
always  poise  upon  the  shingle  at  exactly  the  right 
angle.  They  are  heavier  men  than  I ;  but  they 
move  lightly  as  birds.  .  .  .  Now  I  have  to  stop 
for  rest  every  half-a-dozen  steps.  .  .  .  The  line 
of  broken  straw  sandals  follows  the  zigzags  we 
take.  ...  At  last  —  at  last  another  door  in  the 
face  of  the  mountain.  Enter  the  fourth  station, 
and  fling  myself  down  upon  the  mats.  Time, 
10:30  a.m.  Height,  only  7,937  feet;  —  yet  it 
seemed  such  a  distance! 

Off  again.  .  .  .  Way  worse  and  worse.  .  .  . 
Feel  a  new  distress  due  to  the  rarefaction  of  the 
air.  Heart  beating  as  in  a  high  fever.  .  .  .  Slope 
has  become  very  rough.  It  is  no  longer  soft  ashes 


Fuji-no-Yama  21 

and  sand  mixed  with  stones,  but  stones  only,  — 
fragments  of  lava,  lumps  of  pumice,  scoriae  of 
every  sort,  all  angled  as  if  freshly  broken  with  a 
hammer.  All  would  likewise  seem  to  have  been 
expressly  shaped  so  as  to  turn  upside-down  when 
trodden  upon.  Yet  I  must  confess  that  they  never 
turn  under  the  feet  of  the  goriki.  .  .  .  The  cast- 
ofT  sandals  strew  the  slope  in  ever-increasing  num 
bers.  .  .  .  But  for  the  goriki  I  should  have  had 
ever  so  many  bad  tumbles :  they  cannot  prevent 
me  from  slipping ;  but  they  never  allow  me  to 
fall.  Evidently  I  am  not  fitted  to  climb  moun 
tains.  .  .  .  Height,  8,659  feet  — but  the  fifth 
station  is  shut  up !  Must  keep  zigzaging  on  to 
the  next.  Wonder  how  I  shall  ever  be  able  to 
reach  it!  ...  And  there  are  people  still  alive 
who  have  climbed  Fuji  three  and  four  times,  for 
pleasure  /  .  .  .  Dare  not  look  back.  See  noth 
ing  but  the  black  stones  always  turning  under  me, 
and  the  bronzed  feet  of  those  marvellous  goriki 
who  never  slip,  never  pant,  and  never  perspire. 
.  .  .  Staff  begins  to  hurt  my  hand.  .  .  .  Goriki 
push  and  pull :  it  is  shameful  of  me,  I  know,  to 
give  them  so  much  trouble.  ...  Ah !  sixth  sta 
tion  !  —  may  all  the  myriads  of  the  gods  bless  my 
goriki !  Time,  2 : 07  p.  m.  Height,  9,3 1 7  feet. 


22       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Resting,  I  gaze  through  the  doorway  at  the 
abyss  below.  The  land  is  now  dimly  visible  only 
through  rents  in  a  prodigious  wilderness  of  white 
clouds;  and  within  these  rents  everything  looks 
almost  black.  .  .  .  The  horizon  has  risen  fright 
fully,  —  has  expanded  monstrously.  ...  My 
goriki  warn  me  that  the  summit  is  still  miles 
away.  I  have  been  too  slow.  We  must  hasten 
upward. 

Certainly  the  zigzag  is  steeper  than  before. 
.  .  .  With  the  stones  now  mingle  angular  rocks  ; 
and  we  sometimes  have  to  flank  queer  black 
bulks  that  look  like  basalt.  ...  On  the  right 
rises,  out  of  sight,  a  jagged  black  hideous  ridge, 

—  an  ancient  lava-stream.    The  line  of  the  left 
slope  still  shoots  up,  straight  as  a  bow-string. 
.  .  .  Wonder  if  the  way  will  become  any  steeper ; 

—  doubt  whether  it  can  possibly  become  any 
rougher.    Rocks  dislodged  by  my  feet  roll  down 
soundlessly;  —  I  am  afraid  to  look  after  them. 
Their  noiseless  vanishing  gives  me  a  sensation 
like  the  sensation  of  falling  in  dreams.  .  .  . 

There  is  a  white  gleam  overhead  —  the  lower- 
most  verge  of  an  immense  stretch  of  snow.  .  .  . 
Now  we  are  skirting  a  snow-filled  gully, — the 


Fuji-no-Yama  23 

lowermost  of  those  white  patches  which,  at  first 
sight  of  the  summit  this  morning,  seemed  scarcely 
an  inch  long.  It  will  take  an  hour  to  pass  it.  ... 
A  guide  runs  forward,  while  I  rest  upon  my  staff, 
and  returns  with  a  large  ball  of  snow.  What 
curious  snow !  Not  flaky,  soft,  white  snow,  but 
a  mass  of  transparent  globules,  —  exactly  like 
glass  beads.  I  eat  some,  and  find  it  deliciously 
refreshing.  .  .  .  The  seventh  station  is  closed. 
How  shall  I  get  to  the  eighth?  .  .  .  Happily, 
breathing  has  become  less  difficult.  .  .  .  The 
wind  is  upon  us  again,  and  black  dust  with  it. 
The  goriki  keep  close  to  me,  and  advance  with 
caution.  ...  I  have  to  stop  for  rest  at  every  turn 
on  the  path;  —  cannot  talk  for  weariness.  .  .  . 
I  do  not  feel ;  —  I  am  much  too  tired  to  feel.  .  .  . 
How  I  managed  it,  I  do  not  know ;  —  but  I  have 
actually  got  to  the  eighth  station!  Not  for 
a  thousand  millions  of  dollars  will  I  go  one  step 
further  to-day.  Time,  4: 40  p.m.  Height,  10,693 
feet. 


I 
24      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 


It  is  much  too  cold  here  for  rest  without  winter 
clothing ;  and  now  I  learn  the  worth  of  the  heavy 
robes  provided  by  the  guides.  The  robes  are  blue, 
with  big  white  Chinese  characters  on  the  back, 
and  are  padded  thickly  as  bedquilts ;  but  they  feel 
light ;  for  the  air  is  really  like  the  frosty  breath 
of  February.  ...  A  meal  is  preparing ;  —  I  notice 
that  charcoal  at  this  elevation  acts  in  a  refractory 
manner,  and  that  a  fire  can  be  maintained  only 
by  constant  attention.  .  .  .  Cold  and  fatigue 
sharpen  appetite :  we  consume  a  surprising  quan 
tity  of  Zo-sui,  —  rice  boiled  with  eggs  and  a 
little  meat.  By  reason  of  my  fatigue  and  of  the 
hour,  it  has  been  decided  to  remain  here  for  the 
night. 

Tired  as  I  am,  I  cannot  but  limp  to  the  doorway 
to  contemplate  the  amazing  prospect.  From 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  threshold,  the  ghastly 
slope  of  rocks  and  cinders  drops  down  into  a  pro 
digious  disk  of  clouds  miles  beneath  us,  —  clouds 
of  countless  forms,  but  mostly  wreathings  and 
fluffy  pilings;  —  and  the  whole  huddling  mass, 


Fuji-no-Yama  2$ 

reaching  almost  to  the  horizon,  is  blinding  white 
under  the  sun.  (By  the  Japanese,  this  tremendous 
cloud-expanse  is  well  named  Wata-no-Umi,  "  the 
Sea  of  Cotton.")  The  horizon  itself  —  enorm 
ously  risen,  phantasmally  expanded  —  seems  half 
way  up  above  the  world :  a  wide  luminous  belt 
ringing  the  hollow  vision.  Hollow,  I  call  it,  be 
cause  extreme  distances  below  the  sky-line  are 
sky- colored  and  vague,  —  so  that  the  impression 
you  receive  is  not  of  being  on  a  point  under  a 
vault,  but  of  being  upon  a  point  rising  into  a  stu 
pendous  blue  sphere,  of  which  this  huge  horizon 
would  represent  the  equatorial  zone.  To  turn 
away  from  such  a  spectacle  is  not  possible.  I 
watch  and  watch  until  the  dropping  sun  changes 
the  colors,  —  turning  the  Sea  of  Cotton  into  a 
Fleece  of  Gold.  Half-round  the  horizon  a  yellow 
glory  grows  and  burns.  Here  and  there  beneath 
it,  through  cloudrifts,  colored  vaguenesses  define : 
I  now  see  golden  water,  with  long  purple  head 
lands  reaching  into  it,  with  ranges  of  violet  peaks 
thronging  behind  it;  —  these  glimpses  curiously 
resembling  portions  of  a  tinted  topographical  map. 
Yet  most  of  the  landscape  is  pure  delusion.  Even 
my  guides,  with  their  long  experience  and  their 
eagle-sight,  can  scarcely  distinguish  the  real  from 


26       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  unreal ;  —  for  the  blue  and  purple  and  violet 
clouds  moving  under  the  Golden  Fleece,  exactly 
mock  the  outlines  and  the  tones  of  distant  peaks 
and  capes:  you  can  detect  what  is  vapor  only 
by  its  slowly  shifting  shape.  .  .  .  Brighter  and 
brighter  glows  the  gold.  Shadows  come  from  the 
west,  —  shadows  flung  by  cloud-pile  over  cloud- 
pile  ;  and  these,  like  evening  shadows  upon  snow, 
are  violaceous  blue.  .  .  .  Then  orange -tones  ap 
pear  in  the  horizon ;  then  smouldering  crimson. 
And  now  the  greater  part  of  the  Fleece  of  Gold 
has  changed  to  cotton  again,  —  white  cotton 
mixed  with  pink.  .  .  .  Stars  thrill  out.  The 
cloud-waste  uniformly  whitens ;  —  thickening 
and  packing  to  the  horizon.  The  west  glooms. 
Night  rises;  and  all  things  darken  except  that 
wondrous  unbroken  world-round  of  white,  —  the 
Sea  of  Cotton. 

The  station-keeper  lights  his  lamps,  kindles  a 
fire  of  twigs,  prepares  our  beds.  Outside  it  is 
bitterly  cold,  and,  with  the  fall  of  night,  becoming 
colder.  Still  1  cannot  turn  away  from  that  astound 
ing  vision.  .  .  .  Countless  stars  now  flicker  and 
shiver  in  the  blue-black  sky.  Nothing  whatever 
of  the  material  world  remains  visible,  except  the 


fuji-no-Yama  27 

black  slope  of  the  peak  before  my  feet.  The 
enormous  cloud-disk  below  continues  white  ;  but 
to  all  appearance  it  has  become  a  liquidly  level 
white,  without  forms,  —  a  white  flood.  It  is  no 
longer  the  Sea  of  Cotton.  It  is  a  Sea  of  Milk, 
the  Cosmic  Sea  of  ancient  Indian  legend,  —  and 
always  self-luminous,  as  with  ghostly  quickenings. 


VI 


Squatting  by  the  wood  fire,  I  listen  to  the  goriki 
and  the  station -keeper  telling  of  strange  happen 
ings  on  the  mountain.  One  incident  discussed  I 
remember  reading  something  about  in  a  Tokyo 
paper :  I  now  hear  it  retold  by  the  lips  of  a  man 
who  figured  in  it  as  a  hero. 

A  Japanese  meteorologist  named  Nonaka,  at 
tempted  last  year  the  rash  undertaking  of  passing 
the  winter  on  the  summit  of  Fuji  for  purposes  of 
scientific  study.  It  might  not  be  difficult  to  win 
ter  upon  the  peak  in  a  solid  observatory  furnished 
with  a  good  stove,  and  all  necessary  comforts-, 
but  Nonaka  could  afford  only  a  small  wooden 
hut,  in  which  he  would  be  obliged  to  spend  the 
cold  season  without  fire!  His  young  wife  in- 


28       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

sisted  on  sharing  his  labors  and  dangers.  The 
couple  began  their  sojourn  on  the  summit  toward 
the  close  of  September.  In  midwinter  news  was 
brought  to  Gotemba  that  both  were  dying. 

Relatives  and  friends  tried  to  organize  a  rescue- 
party.  But  the  weather  was  frightful ;  the  peak 
was  covered  with  snow  and  ice ;  the  chances  of 
death  were  innumerable;  and  the  goriki  would 
not  risk  their  lives.  Hundreds  of  dollars  could 
not  tempt  them.  At  last  a  desperate  appeal  was 
made  to  them  as  representatives  of  Japanese 
courage  and  hardihood :  they  were  assured  that 
to  suffer  a  man  of  science  to  perish,  without 
making  even  one  plucky  effort  to  save  him, 
would  disgrace  the  country ;  —  they  were  told 
that  the  national  honor  was  in  their  hands.  This 
appeal  brought  forward  two  volunteers.  One 
was  a  man  of  great  strength  and  daring,  nick 
named  by  his  fellow-guides,  Oni-guma,  "  the 
Demon-Bear,"  the  other  was  the  elder  of  my 
goriki.  Both  believed  that  they  were  going  to 
certain  destruction.  They  took  leave  of  their 
friends  and  kindred,  and  drank  with  their  families 
the  farewell  cup  of  water,  —  mid%u-no-saka%uki, 
—  in  which  those  about  to  be  separated  by  death 
pledge  each  other.  Then,  after  having  thickly 


Fuji-no-Yama  29 

wrapped  themselves  in  cotton-wool,  and  made  all 
possible  preparation  for  ice  climbing,  they  started, 
—  taking  with  them  a  brave  army -surgeon  who 
had  offered  his  services,  without  fee,  for  the 
rescue.  After  surmounting  extraordinary  diffi 
culties,  the  party  reached  the  hut ;  but  the  in 
mates  refused  to  open!  Nonaka  protested  that 
he  would  rather  die  than  face  the  shame  of  failure 
in  his  undertaking;  and  his  wife  said  that  she 
had  resolved  to  die  with  her  husband.  Partly  by 
forcible,  and  partly  by  gentle  means,  the  pair 
were  restored  to  a  better  state  of  mind.  The 
surgeon  administered  medicines  and  cordials ;  the 
patients,  carefully  wrapped  up,  were  strapped  to 
the  backs  of  the  guides;  and  the  descent  was 
begun.  My  goriki,  who  carried  the  lady,  believes 
that  the  gods  helped  him  on  the  ice-slopes.  More 
than  once,  all  thought  themselves  lost ;  but  they 
reached  the  foot  of  the  mountain  without  one 
serious  mishap.  After  weeks  of  careful  nursing, 
the  rash  young  couple  were  pronounced  out  of 
danger.  The  wife  suffered  less,  and  recovered 
more  quickly,  than  the  husband. 

The  goriki  have  cautioned  me  not  to  venture 
outside  during  the  night  without  calling  them. 


30       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

They  will  not  tell  me  why  ;  and  their  warning  is 
peculiarly  uncanny.  From  previous  experiences 
during  Japanese  travel,  I  surmise  that  the  danger 
implied  is  supernatural ;  but  1  feel  that  it  would 
be  useless  to  ask  questions. 

The  door  is  closed  and  barred.  1  lie  down 
between  the  guides,  who  are  asleep  in  a  moment, 
as  I  can  tell  by  their  heavy  breathing.  I  cannot 
sleep  immediately  ;  —  perhaps  the  fatigues  and 
the  surprises  of  the  day  have  made  me  somewhat 
nervous.  I  look  up  at  the  rafters  of  the  black 
roof,  —  at  packages  of  sandals,  bundles  of  wood, 
bundles  of  many  indistinguishable  kinds  there 
stowed  away  or  suspended,  and  making  queer 
shadows  in  the  lamplight.  ...  It  is  terribly  cold, 
even  under  my  three  quilts  ;  and  the  sound  of  the 
wind  outside  is  wonderfully  like  the  sound  of 
great  surf,  —  a  constant  succession  of  bursting 
roars,  each  followed  by  a  prolonged  hiss.  The 
hut,  half  buried  under  tons  of  rock  and  drift, 
does  not  move ;  but  the  sand  does,  and  trickles 
down  between  the  rafters ;  and  small  stones  also 
move  after  each  fierce  gust,  with  a  rattling  just 
like  the  clatter  of  shingle  in  the  pull  of  a  re 
treating  wave. 


Fuji-no- Yama  31 

,  4.  a.  m.  —  Go  out  alone,  despite  last  evening's 
warning,  but  keep  close  to  the  door.  There  is  a 
great  and  icy  blowing.  The  Sea  of  Milk  is  un 
changed  :  it  lies  far  below  this  wind.  Over  it  the 
moon  is  dying.  .  .  .  The  guides,  perceiving  my 
absence,  spring  up  and  join  me.  I  am  reproved 
for  not  having  awakened  them.  They  will  not  let 
me  stay  outside  alone :  so  I  turn  in  with  them. 

Dawn:  a  zone  of  pearl  grows  round  the 
world.  The  stars  vanish ;  the  sky  brightens.  A 
wild  sky,  with  dark  wrack  drifting  at  an  enormous 
height.  The  Sea  of  Milk  has  turned  again  into 
Cotton,  —  and  there  are  wide  rents  in  it.  The 
desolation  of  the  black  slope,  —  all  the  ugliness  of 
slaggy  rock  and  angled  stone,  again  defines.  .  .  . 
Now  the  cotton  becomes  disturbed  ;  —  it  is  break 
ing  up.  A  yellow  glow  runs  along  the  east  like 
the  glare  of  a  wind-blown  fire.  .  .  .  Alas !  I  shall 
not  be  among  the  fortunate  mortals  able  to  boast 
of  viewing  from  Fuji  the  first  lifting  of  the  sun  ! 
Heavy  clouds  have  drifted  across  the  horizon  at 
the  point  where  he  should  rise.  .  .  .  Now  I  know 
that  he  has  risen;  because  the  upper  edges  of 
those  purple  rags  of  cloud  are  burning  like  char 
coal.  But  I  have  been  so  disappointed ! 


22       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

More  and  more  luminous  the  hollow  world. 
League-wide  heapings  of  cottony  cloud  roll  apart. 
Fearfully  far-away  there  is  a  light  of  gold  upon 
water:  the  sun  here  remains  viewless,  but  the 
ocean  sees  him.  It  is  not  a  flicker,  but  a  burnished 
glow  ;  —  at  such  a  distance  ripplings  are  invisi 
ble.  .  .  .  Further  and  further  scattering,  the  clouds 
unveil  a  vast  grey  and  blue  landscape ;  —  hun 
dreds  and  hundreds  of  miles  throng  into  vision  at 
once.  On  the  right  I  distinguish  Tokyo  bay,  and 
Kamakura,  and  the  holy  island  of  Enoshima  (no 
bigger  than  the  dot  over  this  letter  "  i ") ;  —  on 
the  left  the  wilder  Suruga  coast,  and  the  blue- 
toothed  promontory  of  Idzu,  and  the  place  of  the 
fishing-village  where  I  have  been  summering,  — 
the  merest  pin-point  in  that  tinted  dream  of 
hill  and  shore.  Rivers  appear  but  as  sun -gleams 
on  spider-threads  ;  —  fishing-sails  are  white  dust 
clinging  to  the  grey-blue  glass  of  the  sea.  And 
the  picture  alternately  appears  and  vanishes  while 
the  clouds  drift  and  shift  across  it,  and  shape 
themselves  into  spectral  islands  and  mountains 
and  valleys  of  all  Elysian  colors.  .  . 


Fuji-no- Yama  33 


VII 


6 :  40  a.  m.  —  Start  for  the  top.  .  .  .  Hardest 
and  roughest  stage  of  the  journey,  through  a  wil 
derness  of  lava-blocks.  The  path  zigzags  be 
tween  ugly  masses  that  project  from  the  slope 
like  black  teeth.  The  trail  of  cast-away  sandals 
is  wider  than  ever.  .  .  .  Have  to  rest  every  few 
minutes.  .  .  .  Reach  another  long  patch  of  the 
snow  that  looks  like  glass-beads,  and  eat  some. 
The  next  station  —  a  half -station  —  is  closed ; 
and  the  ninth  has  ceased  to  exist.  ...  A  sudden 
fear  comes  to  me,  not  of  the  ascent,  but  of  the 
prospective  descent  by  a  route  which  is  too  steep 
even  to  permit  of  comfortably  sitting  down.  But 
the  guides  assure  me  that  there  will  be  no  diffi 
culty,  and  that  most  of  the  return -journey  will 
be  by  another  way,  —  over  the  interminable  level 
which  I  wondered  at  yesterday,  —  nearly  all  soft 
sand,  with  very  few  stones.  It  is  called  the 
bashiri  ("  glissade  ") ;  and  we  are  to  descend  at 
a  run !  .  .  . 

All  at  once  a  family  of  field-mice  scatter  out 
from  under  my  feet  in  panic ;  and  the  goriki  be 
hind  me  catches  one,  and  gives  it  to  me.  I  hold 
3 


34       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  tiny  shivering  life  for  a  moment  to  examine 
it,  and  set  it  free  again.  These  little  creatures 
have  very  long  pale  noses.  How  do  they  live  in 
this  waterless  desolation,  —  and  at  such  an  alti 
tude, —  especially  in  the  season  of  snow?  For 
we  are  now  at  a  height  of  more  than  eleven 
thousand  feet!  The  goriki  say  that  the  mice 
find  roots  growing  under  the  stones.  .  .  . 

Wilder  and  steeper ;  —  for  me,  at  least,  the 
climbing  is  sometimes  on  all  fours.  There  are 
barriers  which  we  surmount  with  the  help  of 
ladders.  There  are  fearful  places  with  Buddhist 
names,  such  as  the  Sai-no-Kawara,  or  Dry  Bed 
of  the  River  of  Souls,  —  a  black  waste  strewn 
with  heaps  of  rock,  like  those  stone-piles  which, 
in  Buddhist  pictures  of  the  underworld,  the  ghosts 
of  children  build.  .  .  . 

Twelve  thousand  feet,  and  something, — the 
top !  Time,  8 :  20  a.  m.  .  .  .  Stone  huts ; 
Shinto  shrine  with  torii ;  icy  well,  called  the 
Spring  of  Gold ;  stone  tablet  bearing  a  Chinese 
poem  and  the  design  of  a  tiger ;  rough  walls  of 
lava-blocks  round  these  things,  —  possibly  for 
protection  against  the  wind.  Then  the  huge 
dead  crater,  —  probably  between  a  quarter  of  a 


Fuji-no- Yama  35 

mile  and  half-a-mile  wide,  but  shallowed  up  to 
within  three  or  four  hundred  feet  of  the  verge  by 
volcanic  detritus,  —  a  cavity  horrible  even  in  the 
tones  of  its  yellow  crumbling  walls,  streaked  and 
stained  with  every  hue  of  scorching.  I  perceive 
that  the  trail  of  straw  sandals  ends  in  the  crater. 
Some  hideous  over-hanging  cusps  of  black  lava 

—  like  the  broken  edges  of  a  monstrous  cicatrix 

—  project  on  two  sides  several  hundred  feet  above 
the  opening ;  but  I  certainly  shall  not  take  the 
trouble  to  climb  them.   Yet  these,  —  seen  through 
the  haze  of  a  hundred  miles, — through  the  soft 
illusion  of  blue  spring-weather,  —  appear  as  the 
opening  snowy  petals  of  the  bud  of  the  Sacred 
Lotos !  ...  No  spot  in  this  world  can  be  more 
horrible,  more  atrociously  dismal,  than  the  cin 
dered  tip  of  the  Lotos  as  you  stand  upon  it. 

But  the  view — the  view  for  a  hundred  leagues, 

—  and  the  light  of  the  far  faint  dreamy  world, 

—  and  the  fairy  vapors  of  morning,  —  and  the 
marvellous  wreathings  of  cloud:  all  this,  and 
only  this,  consoles  me  for  the  labor  and  the 
pain.  .  .  .  Other    pilgrims,  earlier  climbers,  — 
poised  upon  the  highest  crag,  with  faces  turned 
to   the   tremendous  East,  —  are  clapping    their 
hands  in  Shinto   prayer,  saluting   the  mighty 


36       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Day.  .  .  .  The  immense  poetry  of  the  moment 
enters  into  me  with  a  thrill.  I  know  that  the 
colossal  vision  before  me  has  already  become  a 
memory  ineffaceable,  —  a  memory  of  which  no 
luminous  detail  can  fade  till  the  hour  when 
thought  itself  must  fade,  and  the  dust  of  these 
eyes  be  mingled  with  the  dust  of  the  myriad 
million  eyes  that  also  have  looked,  in  ages  for 
gotten  before  my  birth,  from  the  summit  supreme 
of  Fuji  to  the  Rising  of  the  Sun. 


Insect-Musicians 


Insect-Musicians 


Mushi  yo  mushi, 
Natte"  ingwa  ga 
Tsukuru  nara? 

"O  insect,  insect  !—  think  you  that  Karma  can  be  ex 
hausted  by  song  ?  "  —Japanese  poem. 

I 

IP  you  ever  visit  Japan,  be  sure  to  go  to  at  least 
one  temple-festival,  —  en-nichi.    The  festi 
val  ought  to  be  seen  at  night,  when  every 
thing  shows  to  the  best  advantage  in  the  glow  of 
countless  lamps  and  lanterns.     Until  you  have 
had  this  experience,  you  cannot  know  what  Japan 
is,  —  you  cannot  imagine  the  real  charm  of  queer- 
ness  and  prettiness,  the  wonderful  blending  of 
grotesquery  and  beauty,  to  be  found  in  the  life 
of  the  common  people. 

In  such  a  night  you  will  probably  let  yourself 
drift  awhile  with  the  stream  of  sight-seers  through 


40      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

dazzling  lanes  of  booths  full  of  toys  indescribable 
—  dainty  puerilities,  fragile  astonishments,  laugh- 
ter-making  oddities ;  —  you  will  observe  represen 
tations  of  demons,  gods,  and  goblins ;  —  you  will 
be  startled  by  mando  —  immense  lantern-trans 
parencies,  with  monstrous  faces  painted  upon 
them;  —  you  will  have  glimpses  of  jugglers, 
acrobats,  sword -dancers,  fortune-tellers ;  —  you 
will  hear  everywhere,  above  the  tumult  of  voices, 
a  ceaseless  blowing  of  flutes  and  booming  of 
drums.  All  this  may  not  be  worth  stopping  for. 
But  presently,  I  am  almost  sure,  you  will  pause 
in  your  promenade  to  look  at  a  booth  illuminated 
like  a  magic-lantern,  and  stocked  with  tiny  wooden 
cages  out  of  which  an  incomparable  shrilling  pro 
ceeds.  The  booth  is  the  booth  of  a  vendor  of 
singing-insects ;  and  the  storm  of  noise  is  made 
by  the  insects.  The  sight  is  curious;  and  a 
foreigner  is  nearly  always  attracted  by  it. 

But  having  satisfied  his  momentary  curiosity, 
the  foreigner  usually  goes  on  his  way  with  the  idea 
that  he  has  been  inspecting  nothing  more  remark 
able  than  a  particular  variety  of  toys  for  children. 
He  might  easily  be  made  to  understand  that  the 
insect-trade  of  Tokyo  alone  represents  a  yearly 
value  of  thousands  of  dollars;  but  he  would 


Insect-Musicians  41 

certainly  wonder  if  assured  that  the  insects  them- 
selves  are  esteemed  for  the  peculiar  character  of 
the  sounds  which  they  make.  It  would  not  be 
easy  to  convince  him  that  in  the  aesthetic  life  of  a 
most  refined  and  artistic  people,  these  insects  hold 
a  place  not  less  important  or  well -deserved  than 
that  occupied  in  Western  civilization  by  our 
thrushes,  linnets,  nightingales  and  canaries.  What 
stranger  could  suppose  that  a  literature  one  thou 
sand  years  old,  —  a  literature  full  of  curious  and 
delicate  beauty,  —  exists  upon  the  subject  of  these 
short-lived  insect-pets  ? 

The  object  of  the  present  paper  is,  by  elucidat 
ing  these  facts,  to  show  how  superficially  our 
travellers  might  unconsciously  judge  the  most 
interesting  details  of  Japanese  life.  But  such 
misjudgments  are  as  natural  as  they  are  inevit 
able.  Even  with  the  kindest  of  intentions  it 
is  impossible  to  estimate  correctly  at  sight  any 
thing  of  the  extraordinary  in  Japanese  custom,  — 
because  the  extraordinary  nearly  always  relates 
to  feelings,  beliefs,  or  thoughts  about  which  a 
stranger  cannot  know  anything. 

Before  proceeding  further,  let  me  observe  that 
the  domestic  insects  of  which  I  am  going  to 


42       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

speak,  are  mostly  night-singers,  and  must  not 
be  confounded  with  the  semi  (cicadas),  mentioned 
in  former  essays  of  mine.  I  think  that  the 
cicadas,  —  even  in  a  country  so  exceptionally  rich 
as  is  Japan  in  musical  insects,  —  are  wonderful 
melodists  in  their  own  way.  But  the  Japanese 
find  as  much  difference  between  the  notes  of 
night-insects  and  of  cicadas  as  we  find  between 
those  of  larks  and  sparrows ;  and  they  relegate 
their  cicadas  to  the  vulgar  place  of  chatterers. 
Semi  are  therefore  never  caged.  The  national 
liking  for  caged  insects  does  not  mean  a  liking 
for  mere  noise ;  and  the  note  of  every,  insect 
in  public  favor  must  possess  either  some  rhythmic 
charm,  or  some  mimetic  quality  celebrated  in 
poetry  or  legend.  The  same  fact  is  true  of  the 
Japanese  liking  for  the  chant  of  frogs.  It  would 
be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  all  kinds  of  frogs 
are  considered  musical;  but  there  are  particular 
species  of  very  small  frogs  having  sweet  notes ; 
and  these  are  caged  and  petted. 

Of  course,  in  the  proper  meaning  of  the  word, 
insects  do  not  sing  ;  but  in  the  following  pages 
I  may  occasionally  employ  the  terms  "  singer " 
and  "  singing-insect,"  —  partly  because  of  their 
convenience,  and  partly  because  of  their  corre- 


Insect-Musicians  43 

spondence  with  the  language  used  by  Japanese 
insect-dealers  and  poets,  describing  the  "  voices  " 
of  such  creatures. 


II 


There  are  many  curious  references  in  the  old 
Japanese  classic  literature  to  the  custom  of  keep 
ing  musical  insects.  For  example  in  the  chapter 
entitled  Nowaki1  of  the  famous  novel  "  Genji 
Monogatari,"  written  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
tenth  century  by  the  Lady  Murasaki-Shikibu,  it 
is  stated  :  "  The  maids  were  ordered  to  descend  to 
the  garden,  and  give  some  water  to  the  insects." 
But  the  first  definite  mention  of  cages  for  singing- 
insects  would  appear  to  be  the  following  passage 
from  a  work  entitled  Cbomon-Shu  : —  "  On  the 
twelfth  day  of  the  eighth  month  of  the  second 
year  of  Kaho  [1095  A.  D.],  the  Emperor  ordered 
his  pages  and  chamberlains  to  go  to  Sagano  and 
find  some  insects.  The  Emperor  gave  them  a 

1  Nowaki  is  the  name  given  to  certain  destructive  storms 
usually  occurring  toward  the  end  of  autumn.  All  the 
chapters  of  the  Genji  Monogatari  have  remarkably  poeti 
cal  and  effective  titles.  There  is  an  English  translation,  bv 
Mr.  Kencho  Suyematsu,  of  the  first  seventeen  chapters. 


44       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

cage  of  network  of  bright  purple  thread.  All, 
even  the  head -chaplain  and  his  attendants,  taking 
horses  from  the  Right  and  the  Left  Imperial 
Mews,  then  went  on  horseback  to  hunt  for 
insects.  Tokinori  Ben,  at  that  time  holding  the 
office  of  Kurando,1  proposed  to  the  party  as  they 
rode  toward  Sagano,  a  subject  for  poetical  com 
position.  The  subject  was,  Looking  for  insects 
in  the  fields.  On  reaching  Sagano,  the  party 
dismounted,  and  walked  in  various  directions 
for  a  distance  of  something  more  than  ten  cho,* 
and  seht  their  attendants  to  catch  the  insects. 
In  the  evening  they  returned  to  the  palace. 
They  put  into  the  cage  some  bagi*  and  omina- 
mesbi  [for  the  insects].  The  cage  was  respect 
fully  presented  to  the  Empress.  There  was  sake- 
drinking  in  the  palace  that  evening;  and  many 
poems  were  composed.  The  Empress  and  her 
court-ladies  joined  in  the  making  of  the  poems." 

This  would  appear  to  be  the  oldest  Japanese 
record  of  an  insect-hunt,  —  though  the  amuse- 

1  The  Kurando,  or  Kurodo,  was  an  official  intrusted  with 
the  care  of  the  imperial  records. 

*  A  cbo  is  about  one-fifteenth  of  a  mile. 

•  Hagi  is  the  name  commonly  given  to  the  bush-clover. 
Ominanusbi  is  the  common  term  for  the  valeriana  offidnalis* 


Insect-Musicians  4£ 

ment  may  have  been  invented  earlier  than  the 
period  of  Kaho.  By  the  seventeenth  century 
it  seems  to  have  become  a  popular  diversion; 
and  night-hunts  were  in  vogue  as  much  as  day- 
hunts.  In  the  Teihoku  Bunshu,  or  collected  works 
of  the  poet  Teikoku,  who  died  during  the  second 
year  of  Showo  (1653),  there  has  been  preserved 
one  of  the  poet's  letters  which  contains  a  very 
interesting  passage  on  the  subject.  "  Let  us  go 
insect -hunting  this  evening,"  —  writes  the  poet  to 
his  friend.  "  It  is  true  that  the  night  will  be  very 
dark,  since  there  is  no  moon ;  and  it  may  seem 
dangerous  to  go  out.  But  there  are  many  people 
now  going  to  the  graveyards  every  night,  because 
the  Bon  festival  is  approaching l ;  —  therefore  the 
way  to  the  fields  will  not  be  lonesome  for  us.  I 
have  prepared  many  lanterns ;  —  so  the  bata-ori, 
matsumushi,  and  other  insects  will  probably  come 
to  the  lanterns  in  great  number." 

It  would  also  seem  that  the  trade  of  insect- 
seller  (musbiya)  existed  in  the  seventeenth  cen 
tury;  for  in  a  diary  of  that  time,  known  as 

1  That  is  to  say,  there  are  now  many  people  who  go 
every  night  to  the  graveyards,  to  decorate  and  prepare  the 
graves  before  the  great  Festival  of  the  Dead. 


46       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  Diary  of  Kikaku,  the  writer  speaks  of  his  dis. 
appointment  at  not  finding  any  insect-dealers  in 
Yedo,  —  tolerably  good  evidence  that  he  had  met 
such  persons  elsewhere.  "  On  the  thirteenth  day 
of  the  sixth  month  of  the  fourth  year  of  Teikyo 
[1687],  I  went  out,"  he  writes,  "to  look  for 
kirigirisu-selkrs.  I  searched  for  them  in  Yot- 
suya,  in  Kojimachi,  in  Hong5,  in  Yushimasa,  and 
in  both  divisions  of  Kanda-Sudamacho  1  ;  but  I 
found  none." 

As  we  shall  presently  see,  the  hirigirisu  was 
not  sold  in  Tokyo  until  about  one  hundred  and 
years  later. 


But  long  before  it  became  the  fashion  to  keep 
singing-insects,  their  music  had  been  celebrated 
by  poets  as  one  of  the  aesthetic  pleasures  of 
the  autumn.  There  are  charming  references  to 
singing-insects  in  poetical  collections  made  dur 
ing  the  tenth  century,  and  doubtless  containing 
many  compositions  of  a  yet  earlier  period.  And 
just  as  places  famous  for  cherry,  plum,  or  other 
blossoming  trees,  are  still  regularly  visited  every 
year  by  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands,  merely 

1  Most  of  these  names  survive  in  the  appellations  of 
well-known  districts  of  the  present  TSkyS. 


Insect-Musicians  47 

for  the  delight  of  seeing  the  flowers  in  their  sea 
sons, —  so  in  ancient  times  city-dwellers  made 
autumn  excursions  to  country-districts  simply  for 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  chirruping  choruses 
of  crickets  and  of  locusts,  —  the  night-singers 
especially.  Centuries  ago  places  were  noted  as 
pleasure-resorts  solely  because  of  this  melodious 
attraction ;  —  such  were  Musashino  (now  Tokyo), 
Yatano  in  the  province  of  Echizen,  and  Mano  in 
the  province  of  Omi.  Somewhat  later,  probably, 
people  discovered  that  each  of  the  principal  species 
of  singing-insects  haunted  by  preference  some  par 
ticular  locality,  where  its  peculiar  chanting  could 
be  heard  to  the  best  advantage ;  and  eventually 
no  less  than  eleven  places  became  famous  through 
out  Japan  for  different  kinds  of  insect-music. 

The    best    places   to    hear   the   matsumushi 
were :  — 

(1)  Arashiyama,  near  Kyoto,  in  the  province 
of  Yamashiro ; 

(2)  Sumiyoshi,  in  the  province  of  Settsu  ; 

(3)  Miyagino,  in  the  province  of  Mutsu. 

The  best  places  to  hear  the  su^umusM  were :  — 

(4)  Kagura-ga-Oka,  in  Yamashiro ; 

(5)  Ogura-yama,  in  Yamashiro; 


48       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

(6)  Suzuka-yama,  in  Ise ; 

(7)  Narumi,  in  Owari. 

The  best  places  to  hear  the  kirigirisu  were :  — 

(8)  Sagano,  in  Yamashiro  ; 

(9)  Takeda-no-Sato,  in  Yamashiro ; 

(10)  Tatsuta-yama,  in  Yamato ; 

(11)  Ono-no-Shinowara,  in  Omi. 

Afterwards,  when  the  breeding  and  sale  of 
singing-insects  became  a  lucrative  industry,  the 
custom  of  going  into  the  country  to  hear  them 
gradually  went  out  of  fashion.  But  even  to-day 
city -dwellers,  when  giving  a  party,  will  sometimes 
place  cages  of  singing-insects  among  the  garden- 
shrubbery,  so  that  the  guests  may  enjoy  not  only 
the  music  of  the  little  creatures,  but  also  those 
memories  or  sensations  of  rural  peace  which  such 
music  evokes. 


HI 

The  regular  trade  in  musical  insects  is  of 
comparatively  modern  origin.  In  Tokyo  its 
beginnings  date  back  only  to  the  Kwansei  era 
(1789-1800), —  at  which  period,  however,  the 


Insect-Musicians  49 

capital  of  the  Shogunate  was  still  called  Yedo. 
A  complete  history  of  the  business  was  recently 
placed  in  my  hands,  —  a  history  partly  compiled 
from  old  documents,  and  partly  from  traditions 
preserved  in  the  families  of  several  noted  insect- 
merchants  of  the  present  day. 

The  founder  of  the  Tokyo  trade  was  an  itin, 
erant  foodseller  named  Chuzo,  originally  from 
Echigo,  who  settled  in  the  Kanda  district  of  the 
city  in  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
One  day,  while  making  his  usual  rounds,  it  oc 
curred  to  him  to  capture  a  few  of  the  su^umusbi, 
or  bell-insects,  then  very  plentiful  in  the  Negishi 
quarter,  and  to  try  the  experiment  of  feeding 
them  at  home.  They  throve  and  made  music  in 
confinement ;  and  several  of  Chuzo's  neighbors, 
charmed  by  their  melodious  chirruping,  asked  to 
be  supplied  with  su^umusbi  for  a  consideration. 
From  this  accidental  beginning,  the  demand  for 
su^umushi  grew  rapidly  to  such  proportions  that 
the  foodseller  at  last  decided  to  give  up  his 
former  calling  and  to  become  an  insect-seller. 

Chuzo  only  caught  and  sold  insects :  he  never 
imagined  that  it  would  be  more  profitable  to 
breed  them.  But  the  fact  was  presently  discov- 

4 


JO      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

ered  by  one  of  his  customers,  —  a  man  named 
Kirayama,  then  in  the  service  of  the  Lord 
Aoyama  Shimodzuke-no-Kami.  Kiriyama  had 
bought  from  Chuzo  several  su^umushi,  which 
were  kept  and  fed  in  a  jar  half-filled  with  moist 
clay.  They  died  in  the  cold  season ;  but  during 
the  following  summer  Kiriyama  was  agreeably 
surprised  to  find  the  jar  newly  peopled  with  a 
number  of  young  ones,  evidently  born  from  eggs 
which  the  first  prisoners  had  left  in  the  clay.  He 
fed  them  carefully,  and  soon  had  the  pleasure, 
my  chronicler  says,  of  hearing  them  "  begin  to 
sing  in  small  voices."  Then  he  resolved  to  make 
some  experiments ;  and,  aided  by  Chuzo,  who 
furnished  the  males  and  females,  he  succeeded  in 
breeding  not  only  su^umusbi,  but  three  other 
kinds  of  singing-insects  also,  —  kantan,  matsu- 
musbi,  and  kutsuwamushi.  He  discovered,  at  the 
same  time,  that,  by  keeping  his  jars  in  a  warm 
room,  the  insects  could  be  hatched  considerably 
in  advance  of  the  natural  season.  Chuzo  sold 
for  Kiriyama  these  home-bred  singers ;  and  both 
men  found  the  new  undertaking  profitable  beyond 
expectation. 

The  example  set  by  Kiriyama  was  imitated  by 
a  tabiya,  or  stocking-maker  named  Yasubei  (com- 


•C     «" 

<      UJ 


^    o 


uJ     (J 

O 

<     ro 

U 


Insect-Musicians  $1 

monly  known  as  Tabiya  Yasubei  by  reason  of  his 
calling),  who  lived  in  Kanda-ku.  Yasubei  like 
wise  made  careful  study  of  the  habits  of  singing- 
insects,  with  a  view  to  their  breeding  and  nourish 
ment  ;  and  he  soon  found  himself  able  to  carry 
on  a  small  trade  in  them.  Up  to  that  time  the 
insects  sold  in  Yedo  would  seem  to  have  been 
kept  in  jars  or  boxes:  Yasubei  conceived  the 
idea  of  having  special  cages  manufactured  for 
them.  A  man  named  Kondo,  vassal  to  the  Lord 
Kamei  of  Honjo-ku,  interested  himself  in  the 
matter,  and  made  a  number  of  pretty  little  cages 
which  delighted  Yasubei,  and  secured  a  large 
order  from  him.  The  new  invention  found  pub 
lic  favor  at  once ;  and  Kondo  soon  afterwards 
established  the  first  manufactory  of  insect-cages. 

The  demand  for  singing-insects  increased  from 
this  time  so  rapidly,  that  Chuzo  soon  found  it 
impossible  to  supply  all  his  would-be  customers 
directly.  He  therefore  decided  to  change  his 
business  to  wholesale  trade,  and  to  sell  to  retail 
dealers  only.  To  meet  orders,  he  purchased 
largely  from  peasants  in  the  suburbs  and  else 
where.  Many  persons  were  employed  by  him ; 
and  Yasubei  and  others  paid  him  a  fixed  annual 
sum  for  sundry  rights  and  privileges. 


?2      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Some  time  after  this  Yasubei  became  the  first 
itinerant -vendor  of  singing-insects.  He  walked 
through  the  streets  crying  his  wares ;  but  hired  a 
number  of  servants  to  carry  the  cages.  Tradition 
says  that  while  going  his  rounds  he  used  to  wear 
a  katabira  *  made  of  a  much -esteemed  silk  stuff 
called  sukiya,  together  with  a  fine  Hakata-girdle  ; 
and  that  this  elegant  way  of  dressing  proved  of 
much  service  to  him  in  his  business. 

Two  men,  whose  names  have  been  preserved, 
soon  entered  into  competition  with  Yasubei. 
The  first  was  Yasakura  Yasuzo,  of  Honjo-ku,  by 
previous  occupation  a  sahainin,  or  property - 
agent.  He  prospered,  and  became  widely  known 
as  Mushi-Yasu,  —  "  Yasu-the-Insect-Man."  His 
success  encouraged  a  former  fellow-s0Jb0/m'», 
Genbei  of  Uyeno,  to  go  into  the  same  trade. 
Genbei  likewise  found  insect-selling  a  lucrative 
occupation,  and  earned  for  himself  the  sobriquet 
of  Mushi-Gen,  by  which  he  is  yet  remembered. 


1  Katabira  is  a  name  given  to  many  kinds  of  light  tex 
tures  used  for  summer-robes.  The  material  is  usually 
hemp,  but  sometimes,  as  in  the  case  referred  to  here,  of  fine 
silk.  Some  of  these  robes  are  transparent,  and  very  beauti 
ful.  —  Hakata,  in  Kyushu,  is  still  famous  for  the  silk  girdles 
made  there.  The  fabric  is  very  heavy  and  strong. 


Insect-Musicians  £3 

His  descendants  in  Tokyo  to-day  are  flw^1 -manu 
facturers  ;  but  they  still  carry  on  the  hereditary 
insect-business  during  the  summer  and  autumn 
months ;  and  one  of  the  firm  was  kind  enough 
to  furnish  me  with  many  of  the  facts  recorded  in 
this  little  essay. 

Chuzo,  the  father  and  founder  of  all  this  curious 
commerce,  died  without  children ;  and  sometime 
in  the  period  of  Bunsei  (1818-1829)  his  business 
was  taken  over  by  a  distant  relative  named  Ya- 
masaki  Sei'chirS.  To  Chuzo's  business,  Yamasaki 
joined  his  own, — that  of  a  toy-merchant.  About 
the  same  time  a  law  was  passed  limiting  the 
number  of  insect-dealers  in  the  municipality  to 
thirty-six.  The  thirty-six  then  formed  them 
selves  into  a  guild,  called  the  Oyama-K6  ("  Oy- 
ama  Society"),  having  for  patron  the  divinity 
Sekison-Sama  of  the  mountain  Oyama  in  Sag- 
ami  Province.2  But  in  business  the  association 

1  Ame  is  a  nutritive  gelatinous  extract  obtained  from 
wheat  and  other  substances.     It  is  sold  in  many  forms — as 
candy,  as  a  syrupy  liquid  resembling  molasses,  as  a  sweet 
hot  drink,  as  a  solid  jelly.    Children  are  very  fond  of  it 
Its  principal  element  is  starch-sugar. 

2  Oyama   mountain  in  Sagami  is  a  great  resort  of 
Pilgrims.    There  is  a  celebrated  temple  there,  dedicated 
to  Iwanaga-Hime'  ("Long-Rock  Princess"),  sister  of  the 


£4       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

was  known  as  the  Yedo-Mushi-K6,  or  Yedo 
Insect-Company. 

It  is  not  until  after  this  consolidation  of  the 
trade  that  we  hear  of  the  kirigirisu,  —  the  same 
musical  insect  which  the  poet  Kikaku  had  vainly 
tried  to  buy  in  the  city  in  1687, — being  sold 
in  Yedo.  One  of  the  guild  known  as  Mushiya 
Kojiro  ("  Kojiro  the  Insect- Merchant "),  who  did 
business  in  Honjo-Ku,  returning  to  the  city  after 
a  short  visit  to  his  native  place  in  Kadzusa, 
brought  back  with  him  a  number  of  kirigirisu, 
which  he  sold  at  a  good  profit.  Although  long 
famous  elsewhere,  these  insects  had  never  before 
been  sold  in  Yedo. 

"When  Midzu  Echizen-no-Kami,"  says  the 
chronicle,  "became  macbi-bugyo  (or  chief  mag 
istrate)  of  Yedo,  the  law  limiting  the  number 
of  insect-dealers  to  thirty-six,  was  abolished." 
Whether  the  guild  was  subsequently  dissolved 
the  chronicle  fails  to  mention. 

Kiriyama,  the  first  to  breed  singing- insects  ar 
tificially,  had,  like  Chuzo,  built  up  a  prosperous 
trade.  He  left  a  son,  Kamejiro,  who  was  adopted 
into  the  family  of  one  Yumoto,  living  in  Wase'da, 

beautiful  Goddess  of  Fuji.  Sekison-San  is  a  popular  name 
both  for  the  divinity  and  for  the  mountain  itself. 


Insect-Musicians  $5 

Ushigome'-ku.  Kamejiro  brought  with  him  to  the 
Yumoto  family  the  valuable  secrets  of  his  father's 
occupation  ;  and  the  Yumoto  family  is  still  cele 
brated  in  the  business  of  insect  breeding. 

To-day  the  greatest  insect-merchant  in  Tokyo 
is  said  to  be  Kawasumi  Kanesaburo,  of  Samon- 
cho  in  Yotsuya-ku.  A  majority  of  the  lesser 
dealers  obtain  their  autumn  stock  from  him.  But 
the  insects  bred  artificially,  and  sold  in  summer, 
are  mostly  furnished  by  the  Yumoto  house.  Other 
noted  dealers  are  Mushi-Sei,  of  Shitaya-ku,  and 
Mushi-Toku,  of  Asakusa.  These  buy  insects 
caught  in  the  country,  and  brought  to  the  city  by 
the  peasants.  The  wholesale  dealers  supply  both 
insects  and  cages  to  multitudes  of  itinerant  vendors 
who  do  business  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  parish- 
temples  during  the  en-nicU,  or  religious  festivals, 
—  especially  after  dark.  Almost  every  night  of 
the  year  there  are  en-nichi  in  some  quarter  of  the 
capital ;  and  the  insect-sellers  are  rarely  idle  dur 
ing  the  summer  and  autumn  months. 

Perhaps  the  following  list  of  current  Tokyo 
prices1  for  singing-insects  may  interest  the 
reader :  — 

»  Prices  of  the  year  1897. 


£6      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Suzumushi        ....    3  sen  5  rtn,  to  4  sen. 
Matsumushi      ....4".    ...5" 

Kantan 10   «  ....  12   « 

Kin-hibari 10   "  ....  12   " 

Kusa-hibari 10   ".    .    .    .  12   « 

Kuro-hibari 8    "  ....  12   " 

Kutsuwamushi .    .    .    .  10   "  .    .    .    .  15   " 
Yamatosuzu    ....    8   «  ....  12   •« 

Kirigirisu 12    "  ....  IS    " 

Emma-korogi  ....    5    " 

Kane"tataki 12   " 

Umaoi 10    « 

These  prices,  however,  rule  only  during  the 
busy  period  of  the  insect  trade.  In  May  and  the 
latter  part  of  June  the  prices  are  high,  —  for  only 
artificially  bred  insects  are  then  in  the  market.  In 
July  kirigirisu  brought  from  the  country  will 
sell  as  low  as  one  sen.  The  kantan,  kusa-hibari, 
and  Yamato-su^u  sell  sometimes  as  low  as  two 
sen.  In  August  the  Emma-korogi  can  be  bought 
even  at  the  rate  of  ten  for  one  sen  ;  and  in  Sep 
tember  the  kuro-bibari,  hanetatahi,  and  umaoi 
sell  for  one  or  one  and  a  half  sen  each.  But 
there  is  little  variation  at  any  season  in  the  prices 
of  sufumusbi  and  of  matsumushi.  These  are 
never  very  dear,  but  never  sell  at  less  than  three 
sen ;  and  there  is  always  a  demand  for  them.  The 
sufumusbi  is  the  most  popular  of  all ;  and  the 


Insect-Musicians  $7 

greater  part  of  the  profits  annually  made  in  the 
insect-trade  is  said  to  be  gained  on  the  sale  of 
this  insect. 


IV 


As  will  be  seen  from  the  foregoing  price-list, 
twelve  varieties  of  musical  insects  are  sold  in 
Tokyo.  Nine  can  be  artificially  bred,  —  namely 
the  su^umusbi,  matsumusbi,  kirigirisu,  kantan, 
kutsuwamusbi,  Emma-korogi,  kin-bibari,  kusa- 
bibari  (also  called  Asa-su^u),  and  the  Yamato- 
su%u,  or  Yoshino-su^u.  Three  varieties,  I  am 


KANETATAKI  ("THE  BELL-RINGER")  (natural 

told,  are  not  bred  for  sale,  but  captured  for  the 
market:  these  are  the  kanetataki,  umaoi  or 
bataori,  and  kuro-Ubari.  But  a  considerable 


£8       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

number  of  all  the  insects  annually  offered  for 
sale,  are  caught  in  their  native  haunts. 

The  night-singers  are,  with  few  exceptions, 
easily  taken.  They  are  captured  with  the  help  of 
lanterns.  Being  quickly  attracted  by  light,  they 
approach  the  lanterns ;  and  when  near  enough  to 
be  observed,  they  can  readily  be  covered  with  nets 
or  little  baskets.  Males  and  females  are  usually 
secured  at  the  same  time ,  for  the  creatures  move 
about  in  couples.  Only  the  males  sing ;  but  a 
certain  number  of  females  are  always  taken  for 
breeding  purposes.  Males  and  females  are  kept 
in  the  same  vessel  only  for  breeding :  they  are 
never  left  together  in  a  cage,  because  the  male 
ceases  to  sing  when  thus  mated,  and  will  die  in  a 
short  time  after  pairing. 

The  breeding  pairs  are  kept  in  jars  or  other 
earthen  vessels  half-filled  with  moistened  clay, 
and  are  supplied  every  day  with  fresh  food. 
They  do  not  live  long :  the  male  dies  first,  and 
the  female  survives  only  until  her  eggs  have  been 
laid.  The  young  insects  hatched  from  them,  shed 
their  skin  in  about  forty  days  from  birth,  after 
which  they  grow  more  rapidly,  and  soon  attain 
their  full  development.  In  their  natural  state 
these  creatures  are  hatched  a  little  before  the 


Insect-Musicians  £9 

Doyo,  or  Period  of  Greatest  Heat  by  the  old 
calendar,  —  that  is  to  say,  about  the  middle 
of  July;  — and  they  begin  to  sing  in  October. 
But  when  bred  in  a  warm  room,  they  are  hatched 
early  in  April ;  and,  with  careful  feeding,  they 
can  be  offered  for  sale  before  the  end  of  May. 
When  very  young,  their  food  is  triturated  and 
spread  for  them  upon  a  smooth  piece  of  wood ; 
but  the  adults  are  usually  furnished  with  unpre 
pared  food,  —  consisting  of  parings  of  egg-plant, 
melon-rind,  cucumber-rind,  or  the  soft  interior 
parts  of  the  white  onion.  Some  insects,  however, 
are  specially  nourished; — the  abura-kirigirisu, 
for  example,  being  fed  with  sugar-water  and 
slices  of  musk -melon. 


All  the  insects  mentioned  in  the  Tokyo  price- 
list  are  not  of  equal  interest ;  and  several  of  the 
names  appear  to  refer  only  to  different  varieties 
of  one  species,  — though  on  this  point  I  am  not 
positive.  Some  of  the  insects  do  not  seem  to 
have  yet  been  scientifically  classed;  and  I  am 
no  entomologist.  But  I  can  offer  some  general 


60       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

notes  on  the  more  important  among  the  little 
melodists,  and  free  translations  of  a  few  out  of 
the  countless  poems  about  them,  —  beginning 
with  the  matsummU,  which  was  celebrated  in 
Japanese  verse  a  thousand  years  ago : 


Matsumushi.1 

As  ideographically  written,  the  name  of  this 
creature  signifies  "  pine-insect ; "  but,  as  pro 
nounced,  it  might  mean  also  "  waiting-insect,"  — 

since  the  verb  "  matsu," 
"  to  wait,"  and  the  noun 
" matsu" "pine,"  have 
the  same  sound.  It  is 
chiefly  upon  this  double 
meaning  of  the  word  as 
uttered  that  a  host  of 
Japanese  poems  about 
the  matsumushi  are 

MATSUMUSHI  (sligUly  mlar ged).  base(j       Some  of  the$e 

are  very  old,  —  dating  back  to  the  tenth  century 
at  least. 

Although  by  no  means  a  rare  insect,  the  matsu 
mushi  is  much  esteemed  for  the  peculiar  clear- 

1  Calyptotrypbiis  Marmoratus.  (?) 


Insect-Musicians  61 

ness  and  sweetness  of  its  notes —  (onomatopo- 
etically  rendered  in  Japanese  by  the  syllables 
chin-chirorm,  cUn-chirorlri),  —  little  silvery 
shrillings  which  I  can  best  describe  as  resembling 
the  sound  of  an  electric  bell  heard  from  a  dis 
tance.  The  matsumushi  haunts  pine-woods  and 
cryptomeria-groves,  and  makes  its  music  at  night. 
It  is  a  very  small  insect,  with  a  dark-brown  back, 
and  a  yellowish  belly. 

Perhaps  the  oldest  extant  verses  upon  the 
matsumushi  are  those  contained  in  the  Kokinshu, 
—  a  famous  anthology  compiled  in  the  year  905 
by  the  court-poet  Tsurayuki  and  several  of  his 
noble  friends.  Here  we  first  find  that  play  on 
the  name  of  the  insect  as  pronounced,  which  was 
to  be  repeated  in  a  thousand  different  keys  by  a 
multitude  of  poets  through  the  literature  of  more 
than  nine  hundred  years :  — 

Aid  no  no  ni 
Michi  mo  madoinu; 

Matsumushi  no 
Koe  suru  kata  ni 
Yadoya  karamashi. 

"  In  the  autumn-fields  I  lose  my  way ;  —  perhaps 
I  might  ask  for  lodging  in  the  direction  of  the 


62       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

cry  of  the  waiting-insect  ;  "  —  that  is  to  say, 
"  might  sleep  to-night  in  the  grass  where  the 
insects  are  waiting  for  me."  There  is  in  the 
same  work  a  much  prettier  poem  on  the  matsu- 
mushi  by  Tsurayuki. 

With  dusk  begins  to  cry  the  male  of  the  Waiting-insect  ;  — 
I,  too,  await  my  beloved,  and,  hearing,  my  longing  grows. 

The  following  poems  on  the  same  insect  are 
less  ancient  but  not  less  interesting  :  — 

Forever  past  and  gone,  the  hour  of  the  promised  advent  !  — 
Truly  the  Waiter's  voice  is  a  voice  of  sadness  now  ! 

Parting  is    sorrowful    always,  —  even  the  parting  with 

autumn  ! 
0  plaintive  matsumushi,  add  not  thou  to  my  pain  I 

Always  more  clear  and  shrill,  as  the  hush  of  the  night  grows 

deeper, 

The  Waiting-insect's  voice  ;  —  and  I  that  wait  in  the  garden, 
Feel  enter  into  my  heart  the  voice  and  the  moon  together. 


name  signifies  "  bell-insect  ;  "  but  the  bell 
of  which  the  sound  is  thus  referred  to  is  a  very 
small  bell,  or  a  bunch  of  little  bells  such  as  a 
Shinto  priestess  uses  in  the  sacred  dances.  The 

1  Homeogrj>llt4sjaponicus. 


Insect-Musicians  63 

suzumushi  is  a  great  favorite  with  insect-fanciers, 
and  is  bred  in  great  numbers  for  the  market.  In 
the  wild  state  it  is  found  in  many  parts  of  Japan ; 
and  at  night  the  noise  made  by  multitudes  of 
su^umusbi  in  certain  lonesome  places  might  easily 
be  mistaken,  —  as 
it  has  been  by 
myself  more  than 
once,  —  for  the 
sound  of  rapids. 
The  Japanese  de 
scription  of  the 

>*     SuzUMUSHl  (sUgbtly  enlarged). 

insect  as  resem 
bling  "a  watermelon  seed" — the  black  kind  — 
is  excellent.  It  is  very  small,  with  a  black  back, 
and  a  white  or  yellowish  belly.  Its  tintinnabula 
tion —  ri-l-l-l-in,  as  the  Japanese  render  the 
sound — might  easily  be  mistaken  for  the  tink 
ling  of  a  su^u.  Both  the  matsumusbi  and  the 
suzumushi  are  mentioned  in  Japanese  poems  of 
the  period  of  Engi  (901-922). 

Some  of  the  following  poems  on  the  suzumushi 
are  very  old ;  others  are  of  comparatively  recent 
date :  — 

Yes,  my  dwelling  is  old :  weeds  on  the  roof  are  growing ;  — 
But  the  voice  of  the  suzumushi  —  that  will  never  be  old  I 


64       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

To-day  united  in  love,  — we  who  can  meet  so  rarely! 
Hear  how  the  insects  ring ! — their  bells  to  our  hearts  keep 
time. 

The  tinkle  of  tiny  bells,  —  the  voices  of  suzumushi, 

I  hear  in  the  autumn-dusk, — and  think  of  the  fields  at  home. 

Even  the  moonshine  sleeps  on  the  dews  of  the  garden- 
grasses; 
Nothing  moves  in  the  night  but  the  suzumushi's  voice. 

Heard  in  these  alien  fields,  the  voice  of  the  suzumushi,  — 
Sweet  in  the  evening-dusk, — sounds  like  the  sound  of 
home. 

Vainly  the  suzumushi  exhausts  its  powers  of  pleasing, 
Always,  the  long  night  through,  my  tears  continue  to  flow ! 

Hark  to  those  tinkling  tones, — the  chant  of  the  suzumushi  I 
—  If  a  jewel  of  dew  could  sing,  it  would  tinkle  with  such  a 
voice  I 

Foolish-fond  I  have  grown ;  —  I  feel  for  the  suzumushi  I  — 
In  the  time  of  the  heavy  rains,  what  will  the  creature  do  ? 

Hataori-musbi. 

The  bataori  is  a  beautiful  bright-green  grass 
hopper,  of  very  graceful  shape.  Two  reasons 
are  given  for  its  curious  name,  which  signifies 
"the  Weaver."  One  is  that,  when  held  in  a 
particular  way,  the  struggling  gestures  of  the 
creature  resemble  the  movements  of  a  girl  weav 
ing.  The  other  reason  is  that  its  music  seems  to 


Insect-Musicians  6£ 

imitate  the  sound  of  the  reed  and  shuttle  of  a 
hand-loom  in  operation, — Ji-l-l-l — ebon-ebon! 
— ji-i-i-i — ebon-ebon  ! 

There  is  a  pretty  folk-story  about  the  origin 
of  the  hataori  and  the  hirigirisu,  which  used  to 
be  told  to  Japanese  children  in  former  times.  — 
Long,  long  ago,  says  the  tale,  there  were  two 
very  dutiful  daughters  who  supported  their  old 
blind  father  by  the  labor  of  their  hands.  The 
elder  girl  used  to  weave,  and  the  younger  to  sew. 
When  the  old  blind  father  died  at  last,  these  good 
girls  grieved  so  much  that  they  soon  died  also. 
One  beautiful  morning,  some  creatures  of  a  kind 
never  seen  before  were  found  making  music 
above  the  graves  of  the  sisters.  On  the  tomb 
of  the  elder  was  a  pretty  green  insect,  producing 
sounds  like  those  made  by  a  girl  weaving,  — 
ji-i-l-i,  ebon-ebon!  ji-l-l-l,  ebon-ebon/  This 
was  the  first  bataori-mushi.  On  the  tomb  of 
the  younger  sister  was  an  insect  which  kept  crying 
out,  "  Tsu^ure  —  sase,  sase! —  t suture,  t suture 
—  sase,  sase,  sase  !  "  (Torn  clothes  —  patch, 
patch  them  up!  —  torn  clothes,  torn  clothes  — 
patch  up,  patch  up,  patch  up!)  This  was  the 
first  kirigirisu.  Then  everybody  knew  that  the 
5 


66       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

spirits  of  the  good  sisters  had  taken  those  shapes. 
Still  every  autumn  they  cry  to  wives  and  daugh 
ters  to  work  well  at  the  loom,  and  warn  them  to 
repair  the  winter  garments  of  the  household 
before  the  coming  of  the  cold. 

Such  poems  as  I  have  been  able  to  obtain  about 
the  bataori  consist  of  nothing  more  than  pretty 
fancies.  Two,  of  which  I  offer  free  renderings, 
are  ancient,  —  the  first  by  Tsurayuki ;  the  second 
by  a  poetess  classically  known  as  "  Akinaka's 
Daughter  " :  — 

Weaving-insects  I  hear;  and  the  fields,  in  their  autumn- 
colors, 
Seem  of  Chinese-brocade :  —  was  this  the  weavers'  work  ? 

Gossamer-threads  are  spread  over  the  shrubs  and  grasses : 
Weaving-insects  I  hear ;  —  do  they  weave  with  spider-silk? 

Umaoi. 

The  umaoi  is  sometimes  confounded  with  the 
bataori,  which  it  much  resembles.  But  the  true 
umaoi  —  (called  junta  in  Izumo)  —  is  a  shorter 
and  thicker  insect  than  the  hataori;  and  has  at 
its  tail  a  hook-shaped  protuberance,  which  the 
weaver- insect  has  not.  Moreover,  there  is  some 
difference  in  the  sounds  made  by  the  two  crea- 
tures.  The  music  of  the  umaoi  is  not  "ji-i-i-i, 


Insect-Musicians  67 


Si 

UMAOI  (natural  si^e). 

—  chon-chon,"    but,    "  ^u-l-in-t^o  !  —  %u~i-in- 
t%o!"  —  say  the  Japanese. 

Kirigirisu.1 

There  are  different  varieties  of  this  much-prized 
insect.  The  abura-kirigirisu,  a  day-singer,  is  a 
delicate  creature,  and  must  be  carefully  nourished 
in  confinement.  The  tacU-kirigirisu,  a  night- 
singer,  is  more  commonly  found  in  the  market. 
Captured  hirigirisu  sold  in  Tokyo  are  mostly 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Itabashi,  Niiso,  and 
Todogawa;  and  these,  which  fetch  high  prices, 
are  considered  the  best.  They  are  large  vigorous 
insects,  uttering  very  clear  notes.  From  Kujiukuri 
in  Kadzusa  other  and  much  cheaper  hirigirisu 
are  brought  to  the  capital ;  but  these  have  a  dis 
agreeable  odor,  suffer  from  the  attacks  of  a 
peculiar  parasite,  and  are  feeble  musicians. 

1  Locusta  Japonica.  (?) 


68       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

As  stated  elsewhere,  the  sounds  made  by  the 
kirigirisu  are  said  to  resemble  those  of  the  Jap 
anese  words,  "  Tsu^ure  —  sase!  sase/"  (Torn 
clothes —  patch  up !  patch  up !) ;  and  a  large  pro 
portion  of  the  many  poems  written  about  the 


KIRIGIRISU  (natural  st\t). 

insect  depend  for  interest  upon  ingenious  but 
untranslatable  allusions  to  those  words.  I  offer 
renderings  therefore  of  only  two  poems  on  the 
kirigirisu,  — the  first  by  an  unknown  poet  in  the 
Kokinsbu  ;  the  second  by  Tadaf  usa :  — 

O  Kirigirisu  !  when  the  clover  changes  color, 
Are  the  nights  then  sad  for  you  as  for  me  that  cannot 
sleep  ? 

O  Kirigirisu  1  cry  not,  I  pray,  so  loudly  I 
Hearing,  my  sorrow  grows,  —  and  the  autumn-night  is 
long  I 


Insect-Musicians 


69 


KOSA-HIBARI  (natural  si 

Kusa-Ubari. 

The  kma-Ubari,  or  "  Grass-Lark,"  —  also 
called  Asa-su^u,  or  "Morning-Bell;"  Yabu- 
su^u,  or  "the  Little 
Bell  of  the  Bamboo- 
grove  ;  "  Aki-ka^e,  or 
"Autumn  -Wind;" 
and  Ko-su%u-mushi, 
or  "the  Child  of  the 
Bell-  Insect,"  —  is  a 
day  -singer.  It  is  very 
small,  —  perhaps  the 
smallest  of  the  insect- 
choir,  except  the  Ya- 


mato-su^u. 


YAMATO-SCZU 

("  LITTLE-BELL  OF  YAMATO  ") 
(natural  sf^e). 


70      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Kin-bibari. 

The  kin-bibari,  or  "Golden 
Lark  "  used  to  be  found  in  great 
numbers  about  the  neighbor 
hood  of  the  well-known  Shino- 
bazu-no-ike, — the  great  lotos- 
pond  of  Uyeno  in  Tokyo;  — 

KIN-HIBARI   natural    but  °f  Me  ?earS  *  haS  beCOme 

sip).  scarce  there.      The  kin-bibari 

now  sold  in  the  capital  are  brought  from  Todo- 
gawa  and  Shimura. 

Kuro-bibari. 

The  kuro-bibari, 
or  "  Black  Lark,"  is 
rather  uncommon, 
and  comparatively 
dear.  It  is  caught 
in  the  country  about 
Tokyo,  but  is  never 
bred.  KURO-HIBARI  (natural 

Korogi. 

There  are  many  varieties  of  this  night-cricket,  — 
called  korogi  from  its  music  :  —  "  kiri-kiri-kiri- 
kiri!  —  horo-koro-hdro-kdro! — gbi-i-i-i-i-i*i!" 


Insect-Musicians 


71 


One    variety,    the    ebi-korogi,   or    "  shrimp, 
korogi,"  does  not  make  any  sound.     But  the 
uma-korogi,  or  "  horse-korogi ;  "  the 
y  \       Oni-korogi,  or    "  Demon  -  korogi ;" 

^  \        and  the  Emma-korogi,  or "  Cricket- 

?  \        of-Emma l  [King  of  the  Dead]," 

are   all  good   musicians.    The 
color  is  blackish-brown,  or 


EMMA-KOROGI  (natural  sip). 

black ;  —  the  best  singing-varieties  have  curious 
wavy  markings  on  the  wings. 

An  interesting  fact  regarding  the  korogi  is  that 
mention  of  it  is  made  in  the  very  oldest  collec 
tion  of  Japanese  poems  known,  —  the  Manyosbu, 
probably  compiled  about  the  middle  of  the  eighth 

1  Sanscrit:  Yama.  Probably  this  name  was  given  to 
the  insect  on  account  of  its  large  staring  eyes.  Images  of 
King  Emma  are  always  made  with  very  big  and  awful  eyes. 


72       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

century.  The  following  lines,  by  an  unknown 
poet,  which  contain  this  mention,  are  therefore 
considerably  more  than  eleven  hundred  years 
old:- 


Niwa-kusa  ni 
Murasam£  furitg 

Korogi  no 
Naku  oto  kikeba 
Aki  tsukinikeri. 

["  Showers  have 
sprinkled  the  gar 
den-grass.  Hear 
ing  the  sound  of 
the  crying  of  the 
korogi,  I  know 
that  the  autumn 
has  come."] 


EMMA-KOROGI. 


Kutsuwamustt. 

There  are  several  varieties  of  this  extraordinary 
creature,  —  also  called  onomatopoetically  gatcba- 
gatcba,  —  which  is  most  provokingly  described  in 
dictionaries  as  "  a  kind  of  noisy  cricket "  !  The 
variety  commonly  sold  in  Tokyo  has  a  green 


Insect-Musicians 


73 


back,  and  a  yellowish-white  abdomen ;  but  there 
are  also  brown  and  reddish  varieties.  The  kut- 
suwamusbi  is  difficult  to  capture,  but  easy  to 
breed.  As  the  tsuhu-tsuku-bosU  is  the  most 
wonderful  musician  among  the  sun-loving  cicadas 


KOTSUWAMUSHI  (natural 

or  semi,  so  the  kutsuwamusbi  is  the  most  won 
derful  of  night -crickets.  It  owes  its  name,  which 
means  "  The  Bridle-bit-Insect,"  to  its  noise,  which 
resembles  the  jingling  and  ringing  of  the  old- 
fashioned  Japanese  bridle-bit  (kutsuwa).  But 


74       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  sound  is  really  much  louder  and  much  more 
complicated  than  ever  was  the  jingling  of  a  single 
kutsuwa ;  and  the  accuracy  of  the  comparison  is 
not  easily  discerned  while  the  creature  is  storming 
beside  you.  Without  the  evidence  of  one's  own 
eyes,  it  were  hard  to  believe  that  so  small  a  life 
could  make  so  prodigious  a  noise.  Certainly 
the  vibratory  apparatus  in  this  insect  must  be  very 
complicated.  The  sound  begins  with  a  thin  sharp 
whizzing,  as  of  leaking  steam,  and  slowly  strength 
ens; —  then  to  the  whizzing  is  suddenly  added 
a  quick  dry  clatter,  as  of  castanets  ;  —  and  then, 
as  the  whole  machinery  rushes  into  operation, 
you  hear,  high  above  the  whizzing  and  the  clatter, 
a  torrent  of  rapid  ringing  tones  like  the  tapping 
of  a  gong.  These,  the  last  to  begin,  are  also  the 
first  to  cease ;  then  the  castanets  stop ;  and  finally 
the  whizzing  dies  ;  —  but  the  full  orchestra  may 
remain  in  operation  for  several  hours  at  a  time, 
without  a  pause.  Heard  from  far  away  at  night 
the  sound  is  pleasant,  and  is  really  so  much  like 
the  ringing  of  a  bridle-bit,  that  when  you  first 
listen  to  it  you  cannot  but  feel  how  much  real 
poetry  belongs  to  the  name  of  this  insect,  —  cele 
brated  from  of  old  as  "  playing  at  ghostly  escort 
in  ways  where  no  man  can  pass." 


Insect-Musicians  75 

The  most  ancient  poem  on  the  kutsuwamusU 
is  perhaps  the  following,  by  the  Lady  Idzumi- 
Shikibu :  — 

Waga  seko  wa 
Koma  ni  makase'te' 

Kinikeri  to, 
Kiku  ni  kikasuru 
Kutsuwamushi  kanal 

—  which  might  be  thus  freely  rendered : 

Listen  !  —  his  bridle  rings; — that  is  surely  my  husband 
Homeward  hurrying  now — fast  as  the  horse  can  bear 

him  !  .  .  . 
Ah !  my  ear  was  deceived  I  —  only  the  Kutsuwamushi  1 


KANTAN  (natural  sty). 


76      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Kantan. 

This  insect  —  also  called  kantan-gisu,  and 
kantan-no-kirigirisu,  —  is  a  dark-brown  night- 
cricket.  Its  note  —  "  %i-i-i-i-in  "  —  is  peculiar : 
I  can  only  compare  it  to  the  prolonged  twang  of 
a  bow-string.  But  this  comparison  is  not  satis 
factory,  because  there  is  a  penetrant  metallic  qual 
ity  in  the  twang,  impossible  to  describe. 


VI 

Besides  poems  about  the  chanting  of  particular 
insects,  there  are  countless  Japanese  poems,  ancient 
and  modern,  upon  the  voices  of  night-insects  in 
general,  —  chiefly  in  relation  to  the  autumn  sea 
son.  Out  of  a  multitude  I  have  selected  and 
translated  a  few  of  the  more  famous  only,  as 
typical  of  the  sentiment  or  fancy  of  hundreds. 
Although  some  of  my  renderings  are  far  from 
literal  as  to  language,  I  believe  that  they  express 
with  tolerable  faithfulness  the  thought  and  feeling 
of  the  originals :  — 

Not  for  my  sake  alone,  I  know,  is  the  autumn's  coming;  — 
Yet,  hearing  the  insects  sing,  at  once  my  heart  grows  sad. 

KOKINSHU. 


Insect-Musicians  77 

Faint  in  the  moonshine  sounds  the  chorus  of  insect-voices : 
To-night  the  sadness  of  autumn  speaks  in  their  plaintive 
tone. 

I  never  can  find  repose  in  the  chilly  nights  of  autumn, 
Because  of  the  pain  I  hear  in  the  insects'  plaintive  song. 

How  must  it  be  in  the  fields  where  the  dews  are  falling 

thickly ! 
In  the  insect-voices  that  reach  me  I  hear  the  tingling  of  cold. 

Never  I  dare  to  take  my  way  through  the  grass  in  autumn : 
Should  I  tread  upon  insect-voices *  —  what  would  my  feel 
ings  be ! 

The  song  is  ever  the  same,  but  the  tones  of  the  insects 

differ, 
Maybe  their  sorrows  vary,  according  to  their  hearts . 

IDZUMI-SHIKIBU. 

Changed  is  my  childhood's  home— all  but  those  insect- 
voices  : 
1  think  they  are  trying  to  speak  of  happier  days  that  were. 

These  trembling  dews  on  the  grass  — are  they  tears  for  the 

death  of  autumn? — 
Tears  of  the  insect-singers  that  now  so  sadly  cry? 

It  might  be  thought  that  several  of  the  poems 
above  given  were  intended  to  express  either  a  reaJ 
or  an  affected  sympathy  with  imagined  insect' 
pain.  But  this  would  be  a  wrong  interpretation. 

^  *  Musbi  no  koefumu. 


78       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

In  most  compositions  of  this  class,  the  artistic 
purpose  is  to  suggest,  by  indirect  means,  various 
phases  of  the  emotion  of  love,  —  especially  that 
melancholy  which  lends  its  own  passional  tone  to 
the  aspects  and  the  voices  of  nature.  The  baroque 
fancy  that  dew  might  be  insect-tears,  is  by  its 
very  exaggeration  intended  to  indicate  the  extrav 
agance  of  grief,  as  well  as  to  suggest  that  human 
tears  have  been  freshly  shed.  The  verses  in  which 
a  woman  declares  that  her  heart  has  become  too 
affectionate,  since  she  cannot  but  feel  for  the  bell- 
insect  during  a  heavy  shower,  really  bespeak  the 
fond  anxiety  felt  for  some  absent  beloved,  travel 
ling  in  the  time  of  the  great  rains.  Again,  in  the 
lines  about "  treading  on  insect-voices,"  the  dainty 
scruple  is  uttered  only  as  a  hint  of  that  intensifi 
cation  of  feminine  tenderness  which  love  creates. 
And  a  still  more  remarkable  example  of  this  indi 
rect  double-suggestiveness  is  offered  by  the  little 
poem  prefacing  this  article, — 

"O  insect,  insect!— think  you  that  Karma  can  be  ex 
hausted  by  song?" 

The  Western  reader  would  probably  suppose  that 
the  insect-condition,  or  insect-state-of-being,  is 
here  referred  to;  but  the  real  thought  of  the 


Insect-Musicians  79 

speaker,  presumably  a  woman,  is  that  her  own 
sorrow  is  the  result  of  faults  committed  in  former 
lives,  and  is  therefore  impossible  to  alleviate. 

It  will  have  been  observed  that  a  majority  of 
the  verses  cited  refer  to  autumn  and  to  the  sen 
sations  of  autumn.  Certainly  Japanese  poets 
have  not  been  insensible  to  the  real  melancholy 
inspired  by  autumn,  —  that  vague  strange  annual 
revival  of  ancestral  pain :  dim  inherited  sorrow 
of  millions  of  memories  associated  through  mil 
lions  of  years  with  the  death  of  summer ;  —  but 
in  nearly  every  utterance  of  this  melancholy,  the 
veritable  allusion  is  to  grief  of  parting.  With  its 
color-changes,  its  leaf -whirlings,  and  the  ghostly 
plaint  of  its  insect-voices,  autumn  Buddhistically 
symbolizes  impermanency,  the  certainty  of  be- 
reavement,  the  pain  that  clings  to  all  desire,  and 
the  sadness  of  isolation. 

But  even  if  these  poems  on  insects  were  pri 
marily  intended  to  shadow  amorous  emotion,  do 
they  not  reflect  also  for  us  the  subtlest  influences 
of  nature,  — wild  pure  nature,— upon  imagina 
tion  and  memory  ?  Does  not  the  place  accorded 
to  insect-melody,  in  the  home-life  as  well  as  in 
the  literature  of  Japan,  prove  an  esthetic  sensi- 


80      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

bility  developed  in  directions  that  yet  remain  for 
us  almost  unexplored  ?  Does  not  the  shrilling 
booth  of  the  insect-seller  at  a  night-festival  pro 
claim  even  a  popular  and  universal  comprehen 
sion  of  things  divined  in  the  West  only  by  our 
rarest  poets :  —  the  pleasure-pain  of  autumn's 
beauty,  the  weird  sweetness  of  the  voices  of  the 
night,  the  magical  quickening  of  remembrance  by 
echoes  of  forest  and  field?  Surely  we  have 
something  to  learn  from  the  people  in  whose 
mind  the  simple  chant  of  a  cricket  can  awaken 
whole  fairy -swarms  of  tender  and  delicate  fancies. 
We  may  boast  of  being  their  masters  in  the 
mechanical,  —  their  teachers  of  the  artificial  in  all 
its  varieties  of  ugliness ;  —  but  in  the  knowledge 
of  the  natural,  —  in  the  feeling  of  the  joy  and 
beauty  of  earth,  —they  exceed  us  like  the  Greeks 
of  old.  Yet  perhaps  it  will  be  only  when  our 
blind  aggressive  industrialism  has  wasted  and 
sterilized  their  paradise,  —  substituting  every 
where  for  beauty  the  utilitarian,  the  conventional, 
the  vulgar,  the  utterly  hideous,  —  that  we  shall 
begin  with  remorseful  amazement  to  compre 
hend  the  charm  of  that  which  we  destroyed. 


A  Question  in  the  Zen  Texts 


A  Question  in  the  Zen  Texts 


i 

MY  friend  opened  a  thin  yellow  volume  of 
that  marvellous  text  which  proclaims  at 
sight  the  patience  of  the  Buddhist  en 
graver.  Movable  Chinese  types  may  be  very 
useful;  but  the  best  of  which  they  are  capable 
is  ugliness  itself  when  compared  with  the  beauty 
of  the  old  block'-printing. 

"  I  have  a  queer  story  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  A  Japanese  story  ? " 

"  No,  —  Chinese." 

"  What  is  the  book  ?  " 

"  According  to  Japanese  pronunciation  of  the 
Chinese  characters  of  the  title,  we  call  it  Mu- 
Mon-Kwan,  which  means  '  The  Gateless  Barrier.' 
It  is  one  of  the  books  especially  studied  by  the 
Zen  sect,  or  sect  of  DhySna.  A  peculiarity  of 
some  of  the  DhySna  texts,  —  this  being  a  good 
example,  —  is  that  they  are  not  explanatory. 


84      Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

They  only  suggest.  Questions  are  put ;  but  the 
student  must  think  out  the  answers  for  himself. 
He  must  think  them  out,  but  not  write  them. 
You  know  that  Dhyana  represents  human  effort 
to  reach,  through  meditation,  zones  of  thought 
beyond  the  range  of  verbal  expression ;  and  any 
thought  once  narrowed  into  utterance  loses  all 
Dhyana  quality.  .  .  .  Well,  this  story  is  supposed 
to  be  true ;  but  it  is  used  only  for  a  Dhytna 
question.  There  are  three  different  Chinese  ver 
sions  of  it ;  and  I  can  give  you  the  substance  of 
the  three." 
Which  he  did  as  follows :  — 


II 

— The  story  of  the  girl  Ts'ing,  which  is  told 
in  the  Lui-sbwo-li-hwan-ki,  cited  by  the  Ching- 
tang-luh,  and  commented  upon  in  the  Wu-mu- 
kwan  (called  by  the  Japanese  Mu-Mon-Kwan), 
which  is  a  book  of  the  Zen  sect :  — 

There  lived  in  Han-yang  a  man  called  Chang- 
Kien,  whose  child- daughter,  Ts'ing,  was  of  peer 
less  beauty.  He  had  also  a  nephew  called 
Wang-Chau,  —  a  very  handsome  boy.  The 


A  Question  in  the  Zen  Texts    85 

children  played  together,  and  were  fond  of  each 
other.  Once  Kien  jestingly  said  to  his  nephew : 
—  "Some  day  I  will  marry  you  to  my  little 
daughter."  Both  children  remembered  these 
words;  and  they  believed  themselves  thus  be 
trothed. 

When  Ts'ing  grew  up,  a  man  of  rank  asked  for 
her  in  marriage  ;  and  her  father  decided  to  com 
ply  with  the  demand.  Ts'ing  was  greatly  troubled 
by  this  decision.  As  for  Chau,  he  was  so  much 
angered  and  grieved  that  he  resolved  to  leave 
home,  and  go  to  another  province.  The  next 
day  he  got  a  boat  ready  for  his  journey,  and 
after  sunset,  without  bidding  farewell  to  any  one, 
he  proceeded  up  the  river.  But  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  he  was  startled  by  a  voice  calling  to 
him,  "  Wait !  —  it  is  I !  "  —  and  he  saw  a  girl 
running  along  the  bank  towards  the  boat.  It  was 
Ts'ing.  Chau  was  unspeakably  delighted.  She 
sprang  into  the  boat ;  and  the  lovers  found  their 
way  safely  to  the  province  of  Chuh. 

In  the  province  of  Chuh  they  lived  happily 
for  six  years ;  and  they  had  two  children.  But 
Ts'ing  could  not  forget  her  parents,  and  often 
longed  to  see  them  again.  At  last  she  said  to 
her  husband :  —  "  Because  in  former  time  I  could 


86       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

not  bear  to  break  the  promise  made  to  you,  I  ran 
away  with  you  and  forsook  my  parents,  —  al 
though  knowing  that  I  owed  them  all  possible 
duty  and  affection.  Would  it  not  now  be  well 
to  try  to  obtain  their  forgiveness  ? "  "  Do  not 
grieve  yourself  about  that,"  said  Chau;  —  "we 
shall  go  to  see  them."  He  ordered  a  boat  to  be 
prepared ;  and  a  few  days  later  he  returned  with 
his  wife  to  Han-yang. 

According  to  custom  in  such  cases,  the  husband 
first  went  to  the  house  of  Kien,  leaving  Ts'ing 
alone  in  the  boat.  Kien,  welcomed  his  nephew 
with  every  sign  of  joy,  and  said :  — 

"  How  much  I  have  been  longing  to  see  you ! 
I  was  often  afraid  that  something  had  happened 
to  you." 

Chau  answered  respectfully :  — 

"  I  am  distressed  by  the  undeserved  kindness  of 
your  words.  It  is  to  beg  your  forgiveness  that 
I  have  come." 

But  Kien  did  not  seem  to  understand.  He 
asked :  — 

"  To  what  matter  do  you  refer  ? " 

"  I  feared,"  said  Chau,  "  that  you  were  angry 
with  me  for  having  run  away  with  Ts'ing.  I  took 
her  with  me  to  the  province  of  Chuh." 


A  Question  in  the  Zen  Texts    87 

"  What  Ts'ing  was  that  ?  "  asked  Kien. 

"  Your  daughter  Ts'ing,"  answered  Chau,  be- 
ginning  to  suspect  his  father-in-law  of  some 
malevolent  design. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ? "  cried  Kien, 
with  every  appearance  of  astonishment.  "My 
daughter  Ts'ing  has  been  sick  in  bed  all  these 
years,  —  ever  since  the  time  when  you  went 
away." 

"Your  daughter  Ts'ing,"  returned  Chau,  be 
coming  angry,  "  has  not  been  sick.  She  has 
been  my  wife  for  six  years ;  and  we  have  two 
children;  and  we  have  both  returned  to  this 
place  only  to  seek  your  pardon.  Therefore  please 
do  not  mock  us ! " 

For  a  moment  the  two  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence.  Then  Kien  arose,  and  motioning  to  his 
nephew  to  follow,  led  the  way  to  an  inner  room 
where  a  sick  girl  was  lying.  And  Chau,  to  his 
utter  amazement,  saw  the  face  of  Ts'ing,  —  beau 
tiful,  but  strangely  thin  and  pale. 

"  She  cannot  speak,"  explained  the  old  man ; 
"but  she  can  understand."  And  Kien  said  to 
her,  laughingly :  —  "  Chau  tells  me  that  you  ran 
away  with  him,  and  that  you  gave  him  two 
children." 


88       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

The  sick  girl  looked  at  Chau,  and  smiled ;  but 
remained  silent. 

"  Now  come  with  me  to  the  river,"  said  the 
bewildered  visitor  to  his  father-in-law.  "  For  I 
can  assure  you,  —  in  spite  of  what  I  have  seen  in 
this  house,  —  that  your  daughter  Ts'ing  is  at  this 
moment  in  my  boat." 

They  went  to  the  river;  and  there,  indeed, 
was  the  young  wife,  waiting.  And  seeing  her 
father,  she  bowed  down  before  him,  and  besought 
his  pardon. 

Kien  said  to  her :  — 

"  If  you  really  be  my  daughter,  I  have  nothing 
but  love  for  you.  Yet  though  you  seem  to  be 
my  daughter,  there  is  something  which  I  cannot 
understand.  .  .  .  Come  with  us  to  the  house." 

So  the  three  proceeded  toward  the  house.  As 
they  neared  it,  they  saw  that  the  sick  girl,  —  who 
had  not  before  left  her  bed  for  years,  —  was 
coming  to  meet  them,  smiling  as  if  much  de 
lighted.  And  the  two  Ts'ings  approached  each 
other.  But  then  —  nobody  could  ever  tell  how 
—they  suddenly  melted  into  each  other,  and  be 
came  one  body,  one  person,  one  Ts'ing,  —  even 
more  beautiful  than  before,  and  showing  no  sign 
of  sickness  or  of  sorrow. 


A  Question  in  the  Zen  Texts    89 

Kien  said  to  Chau  :  — 

"  Ever  since  the  day  of  your  going,  my 
daughter  was  dumb,  and  most  of  the  time  like  a 
person  who  had  taken  too  much  wine.  Now  I 
know  that  her  spirit  was  absent." 

Ts'ing  herself  said :  — 

"  Really  I  never  knew  that  I  was  at  home.  I 
saw  Chau  going  away  in  silent  anger;  and  the 
same  night  I  dreamed  that  1  ran  after  his  boat. 
.  .  .  But  now  I  cannot  tell  which  was  really  I,  — 
the  I  that  went  away  in  the  boat,  or  the  I  that 
stayed  at  home." 


Ill 

"  That  is  the  whole  of  the  story,"  my  friend 
observed.  "  Now  there  is  a  note  about  it  in  the 
Mu-Mon-Kwan  that  may  interest  you.  This 
note  says  :  — '  The  fifth  patriarch  of  the  Zen  sect 
once  asked  a  priest,  —  "  In  the  case  of  the  sepa 
ration  of  the  spirit  of  the  girl  Ts'ing,  which  was 
the  true  Ts'ing?  "  '  It  was  only  because  of  this 
question  that  the  story  was  cited  in  the  book. 
But  the  question  is  not  answered.  The  author 
only  remarks: — 'If  you  can  decide  which  was 


90       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  real  Ts'ing,  then  you  will  have  learned  that 
to  go  out  of  one  envelope  and  into  another  is 
merely  like  putting  up  at  an  inn.  But  if  you 
have  not  yet  reached  this  degree  of  enlighten 
ment,  take  heed  that  you  do  not  wander  aim- 
lessly  about  the  world.  Otherwise,  when  Earth, 
Water,  Fire,  and  Wind  shall  suddenly  be  dissi 
pated,  you  will  be  like  a  crab  with  seven  hands 
and  eight  legs,  thrown  into  boiling  water.  And 
in  that  time  do  not  say  that  you  were  never  told 
about  the  Thing.'  .  .  .  Now  the  Thing  —  " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  hear  about  the  Thing,"  I 
interrupted,  —  "  nor  about  the  crab  with  seven 
hands  and  eight  legs.  I  want  to  hear  about  the 
clothes." 

"  What  clothes  ? " 

"  At  the  time  of  their  meeting,  the  two  Ts'ings 
would  have  been  differently  dressed,  —  very  dif 
ferently,  perhaps ;  for  one  was  a  maid,  and  the 
other  a  wife.  Did  the  clothes  of  the  two  also 
blend  together  ?  Suppose  that  one  had  a  silk  robe 
and  the  other  a  robe  of  cotton,  would  these  have 
mixed  into  a  texture  of  silk  and  cotton  ?  Suppose 
that  one  was  wearing  a  blue  girdle,  and  the  other 
a  yellow  girdle,  would  the  result  have  been  a  green 
girdle  ?  ...  Or  did  one  Ts'ing  simply  slip  out 


A  Question  in  the  Zen  Texts    91 

of  her  costume,  and  leave  it  on  the  ground,  like 
the  cast-off  shell  of  a  cicada  ? " 

"None  of  the  texts  say  anything  about  the 
clothes,"  my  friend  replied :  "  so  I  cannot  tell  you. 
But  the  subject  is  quite  irrelevant,  from  the  Bud 
dhist  point  of  view.  The  doctrinal  question  is  the 
question  of  what  I  suppose  you  would  call  the 
personality  of  Ts'ing." 

"  And  yet  it  is  not  answered,"  I  said. 

"It  is  best  answered,''  my  friend  replied,  "by 
not  being  answered." 

"  How  so  ? " 

"  Because  there  is  no  such  thing  as  person 
ality." 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead 


Shindarlba  koso  ikitare. 

"  Only  because  of  having  died,  does  one  enter  into  life." 

—  Buddhist  proverb, 

I 

BEHIND  my  dwelling,  but  hidden  from  view 
by  a  very  lofty  curtain  of  trees,  there  is 
a  Buddhist  temple,  with  a  cemetery  at 
tached  to  it.  The  cemetery  itself  is  in  a  grove  of 
pines,  many  centuries  old  ;  and  the  temple  stands 
in  a  great  quaint  lonesome  garden.  Its  religious 
name  isji-sbo-in  ;  but  the  people  call  it  Kobudera, 
which  means  the  Gnarled,  or  Knobby  Temple,  be 
cause  it  is  built  of  undressed  timber,  —  great  logs 
of  hinoki,  selected  for  their  beauty  or  strangeness 
of  shape,  and  simply  prepared  for  the  builder  by 
the  removal  of  limbs  and  bark.  But  such  gnarled 
and  knobby  wood  is  precious  :  it  is  of  the  hardest 
and  most  enduring,  and  costs  far  more  than  com- 


96       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

mon  building-material,  —  as  might  be  divined 
from  the  fact  that  the  beautiful  alcoves  and  the 
choicest  parts  of  Japanese  interiors  are  finished 
with  wood  of  a  similar  kind.  To  build  Kobudera 
was  an  undertaking  worthy  of  a  prince ;  and,  as 
a  matter  of  history,  it  was  a  prince  who  erected 
it,  for  a  place  of  family  worship.  There  is  a 
doubtful  tradition  that  two  designs  were  submitted 
to  him  by  the  architect,  and  that  he  chose  the 
more  fantastic  one  under  the  innocent  impression 
that  undressed  timber  would  prove  cheap.  But 
whether  it  owes  its  existence  to  a  mistake  or  not, 
Kobudera  remains  one  of  the  most  interesting 
temples  of  Japan.  The  public  have  now  almost 
forgotten  its  existence;  —  but  it  was  famous  in 
the  time  of  lyemitsu;  and  its  appellation,  Ji- 
sho-in,  was  taken  from  the  kaimyo  of  one  of  the 
great  Shogun's  ladies,  whose  superb  tomb  may 
be  seen  in  its  cemetery.  Before  Meiji,  the  temple 
was  isolated  among  woods  and  fields ;  but  the  city 
has  now  swallowed  up  most  of  the  green  spaces 
that  once  secluded  it,  and  has  pushed  out  the 
ugliest  of  new  streets  directly  in  front  of  its 
gate. 

This  gate  —  a  structure  of  gnarled  logs,  with  a 
tiled  and  tilted  Chinese  roof  —  is  a  fitting  pref • 


GATE  OF  KOBUDERA 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead      97 

ace  to  the  queer  style  of  the  temple  itself.  From 
either  gable-end  of  the  gate-roof,  a  demon-head, 
grinning  under  triple  horns,  looks  down  upon  the 
visitor.1  Within,  except  at  the  hours  of  prayer, 
all  is  green  silence.  Children  do  not  play  in  the 

1  Such  figures  are  really  elaborate  tiles,  and  are  called 
onigawara,  or  "demon-tiles."  It  may  naturally  be  asked 
why  demon-heads  should  be  ever  placed  above  Buddhist 
gate-ways.  Originally  they  were  not  intended  to  represent 
demons,  in  the  Buddhist  sense,  but  guardian-spirits  whose 
duty  it  was  to  drive  demons  away.  The  onigawara  were 
introduced  into  Japan  either  from  China  or  Korea — not 
improbably  Korea;  for  we  read  that  the  first  roof-tiles 
made  in  Japan  were  manufactured  shortly  after  the  intro 
duction  of  the  new  faith  by  Korean  priests,  and  under  the 
supervision  of  Shotoku  Taishi,  the  princely  founder  and 
supporter  of  Japanese  Buddhism.  They  were  baked  at 
Koizumi-mura,  in  Yamato;  — but  we  are  not  told  whether 
there  were  any  of  this  extraordinary  shape  among  them. 
It  is  worth  while  remarking  that  in  Korea  to-day  you  can 
see  hideous  faces  painted  upon  house-doors,  —  even  upon 
the  gates  of  the  royal  palace;  and  these,  intended  merely 
to  frighten  away  evil  spirits,  suggest  the  real  origin  of  the 
demon-tiles.  The  Japanese,  on  first  seeing  such  tiles,  called 
them  demon-tiles  because  the  faces  upon  them  resembled 
those  conventionally  given  to  Buddhist  demons ;  and  now 
that  their  history  has  been  forgotten,  they  are  popularly 
supposed  to  represent  demon-guardians.  There  would  be 
nothing  contrary  to  Buddhist  faith  in  the  fancy ;  —  for 
there  are  many  legends  of  good  demons.  Besides,  in  the 
eternal  order  of  divine  law,  even  the  worst  demon  must  at 
last  become  a  Buddha. 


98       Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

court  —  perhaps  because  the  temple  is  a  private 
one.  The  ground  is  everywhere  hidden  by  a  fine 
thick  moss  of  so  warm  a  color,  that  the  brightest 
foliage  of  the  varied  shrubbery  above  it  looks 
sombre  by  contrast ;  and  the  bases  of  walls,  the 
pedestals  of  monuments,  the  stonework  of  the 
bell-tower,  the  masonry  of  the  ancient  well,  are 
muffled  with  the  same  luminous  growth.  Maples 
and  pines  and  cryptomerias  screen  the  facade  of 
the  temple ;  and,  if  your  visit  be  in  autumn,  you 
may  find  the  whole  court  filled  with  the  sweet 
heavy  perfume  of  the  mokusei  ^blossom.  After 
having  looked  at  the  strange  temple,  you  would 
find  it  worth  while  to  enter  the  cemetery,  by  the 
black  gate  on  the  west  side  of  the  court. 

I  like  to  wander  in  that  cemetery,  —  partly  be 
cause  in  the  twilight  of  its  great  trees,  and  in  the 
silence  of  centuries  which  has  gathered  about 
them,  one  can  forget  the  city  and  its  turmoil,  and 
dream  out  of  space  and  time,  —  but  much  more 
because  it  is  full  of  beauty,  and  of  the  poetry  of 
great  faith.  Indeed  of  such  poetry  it  possesses 
riches  quite  exceptional.  Each  Buddhist  sect  has 

1  Osmantbus  fragrans.  This  is  one  of  the  very  few 
Japanese  plants  having  richly-perfumed  flowers. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead      99 

its  own  tenets,  rites,  and  forms ;  and  the  special 
character  of  these  is  reflected  in  the  iconography 
and  epigraphy  of  its  burial-grounds,  —  so  that  for 
any  experienced  eye  a  Tendai  graveyard  is  readily 
distinguishable  from  a  Shingon  graveyard,  or  a 
Zen  graveyard  from  one  belonging  to  a  Nichiren 
congregation.  But  at  Kobudera  the  inscriptions 
and  the  sculptures  peculiar  to  several  Buddhist 
sects  can  be  studied  side  by  side.  Founded  for 
the  Hokke,  or  Nichiren  rite,  the  temple  never- 
theless  passed,  in  the  course  of  generations,  under 
the  control  of  other  sects  —  the  last  being  the 
Tendai;  —  and  thus  its  cemetery  now  offers  a 
most  interesting  medley  of  the  emblems  and  the 
epitaphic  formularies  of  various  persuasions.  It 
was  here  that  I  first  learned,  under  the  patient 
teaching  of  an  Oriental  friend,  something  about 
the  Buddhist  literature  of  the  dead. 

No  one  able  to  feel  beauty  could  refuse  to  con- 
fess  the  charm  of  the  old  Buddhist  cemeteries, 
—  with  their  immemorial  trees,  their  evergreen 
mazes  of  shrubbery  trimmed  into  quaintest 
shapes,  the  carpet -softness  of  their  mossed  paths, 
the  weird  but  unquestionable  art  of  their  monu 
ments.  And  no  great  knowledge  of  Buddhism  is 


100     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

needed  to  enable  you,  even  at  first  sight,  to  under- 
stand  something  of  this  art.  You  would  recog 
nize  the  lotos  chiselled  upon  tombs  or  water-tanks, 
and  would  doubtless  observe  that  the  designs  of 
the  pedestals  represent  a  lotos  of  eight  petals,  — 
though  you  might  not  know  that  these  eight 
petals  symbolize  the  Eight  Intelligences.  You 
would  recognize  the  manji,  or  svastika,  figuring 
the  Wheel  of  the  Law,  —  though  ignorant  of 
its  relation  to  the  MahaySna  philosophy.  You 
tvould  perhaps  be  able  to  recognize  also  the 
images  of  certain  Buddhas,  —  though  not  aware 
of  the  meaning  of  their  attitudes  or  emblems  in 
relation  to  mystical  ecstasy  or  to  the  manifesta 
tion  of  the  Six  Supernatural  Powers.  And  you 
would  be  touched  by  the  simple  pathos  of  the 
offerings,  —  the  incense  and  the  flowers  before 
the  tombs,  the  water  poured  out  for  the  dead,  — 
even  though  unable  to  divine  the  deeper  pathos 
of  the  beliefs  that  make  the  cult.  But  unless  an 
excellent  Chinese  scholar  as  well  as  a  Buddhist 
philosopher,  all  book -knowledge  of  the  great 
religion  would  still  leave  you  helpless  in  a  world 
of  riddles.  The  marvellous  texts,  — the  exqui 
site  Chinese  scriptures  chiselled  into  the  granite 
of  tombs,  or  limned  by  a  master-brush  upon  the 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    101 

smooth  wood  of  the  sotoba,  —  will  yield  their 
secrets  only  to  an  interpreter  of  no  common 
powers.  And  the  more  you  become  familiar 
with  their  aspect,  the  more  the  mystery  of  them 
tantalizes,  —  especially  after  you  have  learned  that 
a  literal  translation  of  them  would  mean,  in  the 
majority  of  cases,  exactly  nothing ! 

What  strange  thoughts  have  been  thus  re 
corded  and  yet  concealed  ?  Are  they  complex 
and  subtle  as  the  characters  that  stand  for  them  ? 
Are  they  beautiful  also  like  those  characters,— 
with  some  undreamed-of,  surprising  beauty,  such 
as  might  inform  the  language  of  another  planet  ? 


II 

As  for  sublety  and  complexity,  much  of  this 
mortuary  literature  is  comparable  to  the  Veil  of 
Isis.  Behind  the  mystery  of  the  text  —  in  which 
almost  every  character  has  two  readings  —  there 
is  the  mystery  of  the  phrase ;  and  again  behind 
this  are  successions  of  riddles  belonging  to  a 
gnosticism  older  than  all  the  wisdom  of  the  Occi 
dent,  and  deep  as  the  abysses  of  Space.  Fortu 
nately  the  most  occult  texts  are  also  the  least 


102     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

interesting,  and  bear  little  relation  to  the  purpose 
of  this  essay.  The  majority  are  attached,  not  to 
the  sculptured,  but  to  the  written  and  imperma 
nent  literature  of  cemeteries,  —  not  to  the  stone 
monuments,  but  to  the  sotoba :  those  tall  narrow 
laths  of  unpainted  wood  which  are  planted  above 
the  graves  at  fixed,  but  gradually  increasing  inter 
vals,  during  a  period  of  one  hundred  years.1 

The  uselessness  of  any  exact  translation  of  these 
inscriptions  may  be  exemplified  by  a  word-for- 
word  rendering  of  two  sentences  written  upon 
the  sotoba  used  by  the  older  sects.  What  mean 
ing  can  you  find  in  such  a  term  as  "  Law-sphere- 
substance-nature-wisdom,"  or  such  an  invocation 
as  "  Ether,  Wind,  Fire,  Water,  Earth !  "  —  for  an 
invocation  it  really  is?  To  understand  these 

1  The  word  "sotoba"  is  identical  with  the  Sanscrit 
"stQpa."  Originally  a  mausoleum,  and  later  a  simple 
monument  —  commemorative  or  otherwise, — the  stQpa 
was  introduced  with  Buddhism  into  China,  and  thence, 
perhaps  by  way  of  Korea,  into  Japan.  Chinese  forms  of 
the  stone  stQpa  are  to  be  found  in  many  of  the  old  Japa 
nese  temple-grounds.  The  wooden  sotoba  is  only  a  symbol 
of  the  stQpa ;  and  the  more  elaborate  forms  of  it  plainly 
suggest  its  history.  The  slight  carving  along  its  upper 
edges  represents  that  superimposition  of  cube,  sphere, 
crescent,  pyramid,  and  body-pyriform  (symbolizing  the 
Five  Great  Elements),  which  forms  the  design  of  the  most 
beautiful  funeral  monuments.  . 


0    - 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    102 

words  one  must  first  know  that,  in  the  doctrine 
of  the  mystical  sects,  the  universe  is  composed 
of  Five  Great  Elements  which  are  identical  with 
Five  Buddhas ;  that  each  of  the  Five  Buddhas 
contains  the  rest ;  and  that  the  Five  are  One  by 
essence,  though  varying  in  their  phenomenal  man 
ifestations.  The  name  of  an  element  has  thus 
three  significations.  The  word  Fire,  for  example, 
means  flame  as  objective  appearance ;  it  means 
flame  also  as  the  manifestation  of  a  particular 
Buddha ;  and  it  likewise  means  the  special  quality 
of  wisdom  or  power  attributed  to  that  Buddha. 
Perhaps  this  doctrine  will  be  more  easily  under 
stood  by  the  help  of  the  following  Shingon  clas 
sification  of  the  Five  Elements  in  their  Buddhist 
relations :  — 

I.    Ho-kai-tai-slo-cbi 

(Sansc.  Dharma-dhatu-prakrit-gRana),  or  "  Law-sphere- 
substance-nature-wisdom," —  signifying  the  wisdom  that 
becomes  the  substance  of  things.  This  is  the  element  Ether. 
Ether  personified  is  Dai-Nichi-Nyorai,  the  "  Great  Sun-Bud 
dha  "  (Mahavairokana  Tathagata),  who  "  holds  the  seal  of 
Wisdom." 

II.    Dai-cn-hyo-chi 

(Xdarsana-gfSStna),  or  "  Great-round-mirror-wisdom,"  — 
that  is  to  say  the  divine  power  making  images  manifest. 
This  is  the  element  Earth.  Earth  personified  is  Ashuku 
Nyorai,  the  "  Immovable  TathSgata  "  (Akshobhya). 


104     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

III.     Byo-do-sbo-cbi 

(Samatt-gh'tna),  "  Even-equal-nature-wisdom,"  — that  is, 
the  wisdom  making  no  distinction  of  persons  or  of  things. 
The  element  Fire.  Personified,  Fire  is  H6-sho  Nyorai,  or 
"Gem-Birth"  Buddha  (Ratnasambhava  Tathlgata),  presid 
ing  over  virtue  and  happiness. 

IV.    Myo-kwan-^atsu-cbi 

(Pratyavekshana-gfiana),  "  Wondrously-observing-con- 
sidering-wisdom ; "  —  that  is,  the  wisdom  distinguishing 
clearly  truth  from  error,  destroying  doubts,  and  presiding 
over  the  preaching  of  the  Law.  The  element  Water.  Water 
personified  is  Amida  Nyorai,  the  Buddha  of  Immeasurable 
Light  (Amitabha  TathSgata). 

V.    Jo-sbo-sa-cbi 

(Krityanushthana-gfiana),  the  "  Wisdom-of-accomplish- 
ing-what-is-to-be-done ;  "  —  that  is  to  say,  the  divine  wis 
dom  that  helps  beings  to  reach  Nirvana.  The  element  Air. 
Air  personified  is  Fu-ku-jo-ju,  the  "  Unfailing-of-Accom- 
plishment,"  —  more  commonly  called  Fuku-Nyorai  (Amo- 
ghasiddhi,  or  Sakyamuni).1 

Now  the  doctrine  that  each  of  the  Five  Buddhas 
contains  the  rest,  and  that  all  are  essentially  One, 

1  These  relations  of  the  elements  to  the  Buddhas  named 
are  not,  however,  permanently  fixed  in  the  doctrine,  —  for 
obvious  philosophical  reasons.  Sometimes  Sakyamuni  is 
identified  with  Ether,  and  AmitSbha  with  Air,  etc.,  etc.  In 
the  above  enumeration  I  have  followed  the  order  taken  by 
Professor  Bunyiu  Nanjio,  who  nevertheless  suggests  that 
this  order  is  not  to  be  considered  perpetual. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead 

is  symbolized  in  these  texts  by  an  extraordinary 
use  of  characters  called  Bon-ji,  —  which  are  rec 
ognizably  Sanscrit  letters.  The  name  of  each 
element  can  be  written  with  any  one  of  four 
characters,  —  all  having  for  Buddhists  the  same 
meaning,  though  differing  as  to  sound  and  form. 
Thus  the  characters  standing  for  Fire  would  read, 
according  to  Japanese  pronunciation,  Ra,  Ran, 
Ra'dn,  and  Raku ;  —  and  the  characters  signifying 
Ether,  Kya,  Ken,  Keen,  and  Kyaku.  By  different 
combinations  of  the  twenty  characters  making  the 
five  sets,  different  supernatural  powers  and  dif 
ferent  Buddhas  are  indicated ;  and  the  indica 
tion  is  further  helped  by  an  additional  symbolic 
character,  called  Shu-ji  or  "  seed-word,"  placed 
immediately  after  the  names  of  the  elements. 
The  reader  will  now  comprehend  the  mean 
ing  of  the  invocatory  "  Ether,  Wind,  Fire, 
Water,  Earth !  "  and  of  the  strange  names  of 
divine  wisdom  written  upon  sotoba;  but  the 
enigmas  offered  by  even  a  single  sotoba  may 
be  much  more  complicated  than  the  foregoing 
examples  suggest.  There  are  unimaginable 
acrostics;  there  are  rules,  varying  according  to 
sect,  for  the  position  of  texts  in  relation  to  the 
points  of  the  compass ;  and  there  are  kabalisms 


106     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

based  upon  the  multiple  values  of  certain  Chinese 
ideographs.  The  whole  subject  of  esoteric  inscrip 
tions  would  require  volumes  to  explain ;  and  the 
reader  will  not  be  sorry,  I  fancy,  to  abandon  it  at 
this  point  in  favor  of  texts  possessing  a  simpler 
and  a  more  humane  interest. 

The  really  attractive  part  of  Buddhist  cemetery- 
literature  mostly  consists  of  sentences  taken  from 
the  sutras  or  the  sastras;  and  the  attraction  is 
due  not  only  to  the  intrinsic  beauty  of  the  faith 
which  these  sentences  express,  but  also  to  the 
fact  that  they  will  be  found  to  represent,  in 
epitome,  a  complete  body  of  Buddhist  doctrine. 
Like  the  mystical  inscriptions  above-mentioned, 
they  belong  to  the  sotoba,  not  to  the  grave 
stones  ;  but,  while  the  invocations  usually  occupy 
the  upper  and  front  part  of  the  sotoba,  these 
sutra-texts  are  commonly  written  upon  the  back. 
In  addition  to  scriptural  and  invocatory  texts, 
each  sotoba  bears  the  name  of  the  giver,  the 
kaimyo  of  the  dead,  and  the  name  of  a  com 
memorative  anniversary.  Sometimes  a  brief 
prayer  is  also  inscribed,  or  a  statement  of  the 
pious  purpose  inspiring  the  erection  of  the  sotoba. 
Before  considering  the  scripture-texts  proper,  in 
relation  to  their  embodiment  of  doctrine,  I  sub- 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    107 

mit  examples  of  the  general  character  and  plan  of 
sotoba  inscriptions.  They  are  written  upon  both 
sides  of  the  wood,  be  it  observed ;  but  I  have  not 
thought  it  necessary  to  specify  which  texts  belong 
to  the  front,  and  which  to  the  back  of  the  sotoba, 
—  since  the  rules  concerning  such  position  differ 
according  to  sect :  — 

I.— SOTOBA  OF  THE  NICHIREN  SECT. 

(Invocation.) 

Ether,  Wind,  Fire,  Water,  Earth!  — Hail 
to  the  Sutra  of  the  Lotos  of  the  Good  Law  ! 

(Commemorative  text.) 

To-day,  the  service  of  the  third  year  has  been  performed 
in  order  that  our  lay-brother  [kaimyo]  may  be  enabled  to 
cut  off  the  bonds  of  illusion,  to  open  the  Eye  of  Enlighten 
ment,  to  remain  free  from  all  pain,  and  to  enter  into  bliss. 

(Sastra  text) 

MYO-HO-KYO-RIKI-SOKU-SHIN-JO-BUTSU  ! 

Even  this  body  [of  flesh]  by  the  virtue  of  the  Sutra  of 
the  Excellent  Law,  enters  into  Buddhahood. 

II. —  SOTOBA  OF  THE  NICHIREN  SECT. 

(Invocation.) 

Hail  to  the  Sutra  of  the  Lotos  of  the  Good 
Law! 


108     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

(Commemorative  text.) 

The  rite  of  feeding  the  hungry  spirits  having  been  fuV- 
filled,  and  the  service  for  the  dead  having  been  performed, 
this  sotoba  is  set  up  in  commemoration  of  the  service  and 
the  offerings  made  with  prayer  for  the  salvation  of  Buddha 
on  behalf  of—  (kainyd  follows). 

(Prayer  —  with  English  translation.) 

Gan  i  shi  hudohu 
Fu-gyu  o  issai 
Gatoyo  shujo 
Kai-gujo  butsudo. 

By  virtue  of  this  good  action  I  beseech  that  the  merit  of 
it  may  be  extended  to  all,  and  that  we  and  all  living  beings 
may  fulfil  the  Way  of  Buddha.1 

The  fifth  day  of  the  seventh  month  of  the 

thirtieth  year  of  Meiji,  by ,  this  sotoba 

has  been  set  up. 

III.  — SOTOBA  OF  THE  JODO  SECT. 

(Invocation.) 

Hail  to  the  Buddha  Amida  / 

(Commemorative  mention.) 
This  for  the  sake  of — (here  kaimyo  follows). 


1  The  above  prayer  is  customarily  said  after  having  read 
a  sutra,  or  copied  a  sacred  text,  or  caused  a  Buddhist  ser 
vice  to  be  performed. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    109 

(Sutra  text.) 

The  Buddha  of  the  Golden  Mouth,  who  pos 
sesses  the  Great-Round-Mirror-Wisdom,1  has 
said:  "The  glorious  light  of  Amida  illumi 
nates  all  the  worlds  of  the  Ten  Directions,  and 
takes  into  itself  and  never  abandons  all  living 
beings  who  fix  their  thoughts  upon  that 
Buddha!" 

IV.  —  SOTOBA  OF  THE  ZEN  SECT. 

(Sastra  text.) 

The  Dai-en-hyo-chi-hyo  declares  : —  "  By  en 
tering  deeply  into  meditation,  one  may  behold 
the  Buddhas  of  the  Ten  Directions" 

(Commemorative  text.) 

That  the  noble  Elder  Sister  2  Chi-Sho-In-Ko-Un-Tei-MyS,' 
now  dwelling  in  the  House  of  Shining  Wisdom,  may  in 
stantly  attain  to  Bodhi.* 


1  Dai-en-ky5-chi  (Adarsana-gfiana).    Amida  is  the  Japa 
nese  form  of  the  name  Amitlbha. 

2  "  Great  (or  Noble)  Elder  Sister  "  is  the  meaning  of  the 
title  dai-sbi  affixed  to  the  kaimyd  of  a  woman.     In  the  rite 
of  the  Zen  sect  dai-sbi  always  signifies  a  married  woman; 
sbin-nyo,  a  maid. 

3  This  kaimyo,  or  posthumous  name,  literally  signifies: 
Radiant-Chastity-Beaming-Through-Luminous-Clouds. 

4  The  Supreme  Wisdom ;  the  state  of  Buddhahood. 


110     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

(Prayer.) 

Let  whomsoever  looks  upon  this  sotoba  be  forever 
delivered  from  the  Three  Evil  Ways.1 

(Record.) 

In  the  thirtieth  year  of  Meiji,  on  the  first  day 
of  the  fifth  month,  by  the  house  of  Inouye,  this 
sotoba  has  been  set  up. 

The  foregoing  will  doubtless  suffice  as  speci 
mens  of  the  ordinary  forms  of  inscription.  The 
Buddha  praised  or  invoked  is  always  the  Buddha 
especially  revered  by  the  sect  from  whose  sutra 
or  sastra  the  quotation  is  chosen ; — sometimes  also 
the  divine  power  of  a  Bodhisattva  is  extolled,  as 
in  the  following  Zen  inscription :  — 

"  The  Sutra  of  Kwannon  says  :  —  'In  all 
the  provinces  of  all  the  countries  in  the  Ten 
Directions,  there  is  not  even  one  temple  where 
Kwannon  is  not  self -revealed.'" 

Sometimes  the  scripture  text  more  definitely 
assumes  the  character  of  a  praise-offering,  as  the 
following  juxtaposition  suggests :  — 

1  San-j4kttdO,  —  the  three  unhappy  conditions  of  Hell, 
of  the  World  of  Hungry  Spirits  (Pretas),  and  of  Animal 
Existence. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    111 

"  The  Buddha  of  Immeasurable  Light  illu 
minates  all  worlds  in  the  Ten  Directions  of 
Space." 

This  for  the  sake  of  the  swift  salvation  into  Buddhahood 
of  our  lay-brother  named  the  Great-Secure-Retired-Scholar. 

Sometimes  we  also  find  a  verse  of  praise  or  an 
invocation  addressed  to  the  apotheosized  spirit  of 
the  founder  of  the  sect,  —  a  common  example 
being  furnished  by  the  sotoba  of  the  Shingon 
rite :  — 

"  Hail  to  the  Great  Teacher  Haijo- Kongo  !  " 1 

Rarely  the  little  prayer  for  the  salvation  of  the 
dead  assumes,  as  in  the  following  beautiful  ex 
ample,  the  language  of  unconscious  poetry :  — 

"  This  for  the  sake  of  our  noble  Elder  Sister 

.    May  the  Lotos  of  Bliss  by  virtue  of  these 

prayers  be  made  to  bloom  for  her,  and  to  bear 
the  fruit  of  Buddhahood ! "  2 

But  usually  the  prayers  are  of  the  simplest,  and 
differ  from  each  other  only  in  the  use  of  peculiar 
Buddhist  terms :  — 

1  "Haijo  Kongo"  means  "the  Diamond  of  Universal 
Enlightenment : "  it  is  the  honorific  appellation  of  Kukai 
or  Kobodaishi,  founder  of  the  Shingon-Shu. 

2  From  a  Zen  sotoba. 


112     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

— "  This  for  the  sake  of  the  true  happiness  of  our  lay- 
brother —  [kaimyo],  —  that  he  may  obtain  the  Supreme 
Perfect  Enlightenment." 

—  "  This  tower  is  set  up  for  the  sake  of ,  that  he 

may  obtain  complete  Sambodhi." 1 

—  "  This  precious  tower  and  these  offerings  for  the  sake 

of ,  —  that  he  may  obtain  the  /tnattra-Samnyah- 

Sambodbi."  a 

One  other  subject  of  interest  belonging  to  the 
merely  commemorative  texts  of  sotoba  remains 
to  be  mentioned,  —  the  names  of  certain  Buddhist 
services  for  the  dead.  There  are  two  classes  of 
such  services :  those  performed  within  one  hun 
dred  days  after  death,  and  those  celebrated  at  fixed 
intervals  during  a  term  of  one  hundred  years, 
—  on  the  1st,  2d,  7th,  13th,  17th,  24th,  33d, 
50th,  and  100th  anniversaries  of  the  death.  In 
the  Zen  rite  these  commemorative  services  — 
(perhaps  we  might  call  them  masses)  —  have 
singular  mystical  names  by  which  they  are 
recorded  upon  the  sotoba  of  the  sect, — such 

1  In  Japanese  "  Sanbodai."    The  term  "  tower  "  refers 
of  course  to  the  sotoba,  the  symbol  of  a  real  tower,  or 
at  least  of  the  desire  to  erect  such  a  monument,  were 
it  possible. 

2  In  Japanese,  /Inuka-tara-sanmaku-sanbodai, —  the   su 
preme  form  of  Buddhist  enlightenment 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead 

as  Lesser  Happiness,  Greater  Happiness,  Broad 
Repose,   The    Bright    Caress,  and    The    Great 

Caress. 

But  we  shall  now  turn  to  the  study  of  the 
scripture-texts  proper,  —  those  citations  from 
sutra  or  sastra  which  form  the  main  portion  of 
a  sotoba-writing ;  expounding  the  highest  truth 
of  Buddhist  belief,  or  speaking  the  deepest  thought 
of  Eastern  philosophy. 


Ill 

At  the  beginning  of  my  studies  in  the  Kobudera 
cemetery,  I  was  not  less  impressed  by  the  quiet 
cheerfulness  of  the  sotoba-texts,  than  by  their 
poetry  and  their  philosophy.  In  none  did  I  find 
even  a  shadow  of  sadness :  the  greater  number 
were  utterances  of  a  faith  that  seemed  to  me 
wider  and  deeper  than  our  own,  —  sublime  proc 
lamations  of  the  eternal  and  infinite  nature  of 
Thought,  the  unity  of  all  mind,  and  the  cer 
tainty  of  universal  salvation.  And  other  surprises 
awaited  me  in  this  strange  literature.  Texts  or 
fragments  of  texts,  that  at  first  rendering  ap 
peared  of  the  simplest,  would  yield  to  learned 

8 


114     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

commentary  profundities  of  significance  absolutely 
startling.  Phrases,  seemingly  artless,  would  sud 
denly  reveal  a  dual  suggestiveness,  —  a  two-fold 
idealism,  —  a  beauty  at  once  exoteric  and  mys 
tical.  Of  this  latter  variety  of  inscription  the 
following  is  a  good  example :  — 

"  The  flower  having  bloomed  last  night,  the 
World  has  become  fragrant."  * 

In  the  language  of  the  higher  Buddhism,  this 
means  that  through  death  a  spirit  has  been  re 
leased  from  the  darkness  of  illusion,  even  as  the 
perfume  of  a  blossom  is  set  free  at  the  breaking 
of  the  bud,  and  that  the  divine  Absolute,  or 
World  of  Law,  is  refreshed  by  the  new  presence, 
as  a  whole  garden  might  be  made  fragrant  by 
the  blooming  of  some  precious  growth.  But  in 
the  popular  language  of  Buddhism,  the  same 
words  signify  that  in  the  Lotos-Lake  of  Paradise 
another  magical  flower  has  opened  for  the  Ap- 
paritional  Rebirth  into  highest  bliss  of  the  being 
loved  and  lost  on  earth,  and  that  Heaven  rejoices 
for  the  advent  of  another  Buddha. 

But  I  desire  rather  to  represent  the  general 
result  of  my  studies,  than  to  point  out  the  special 

1  From  a  sotoba  of  the  Jodo  sect. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    11  £ 

beauties  of  this  epitaphic  literature :  and  my  pur 
pose  will  be  most  easily  attained  by  arranging 
and  considering  the  inscriptions  in  a  certain 
doctrinal  order. 

A  great  variety  of  sotoba-texts  refer,  directly 
or  indirectly,  to  the  Lotos- Flower  Paradise  of 
Amida,  —  or,  as  it  is  more"  often  called,  the  Para 
dise  of  the  West.  The  following  are  typical :  — 

"  The  Amida-Kyo  says  :  — '  All  who  enter  into 
that  country  enter  likewise  into  that  state  of 
"virtue  from  which  there  can  he  no  turning 
back:  " 1 

"The  Text  of  Gold  proclaims:  —  'In  that 
world  they  receive  bliss  only :  therefore  that 
world  is  called  Gokuraku, —  exceeding  bliss:  " a 

\  From  a  sotoba  of  the  Jodo  sect.  The  Amida-Kyo,  or 
SQtra  of  Amida,  is  the  Japanese  [Chinese]  version  of  the 
smaller  Sukhavati-VyQha  SQtra. 

2  Gokuraku  is  the  common  word  in  Japan  for  the  Bud 
dhist  heaven.  The  above  inscription,  translated  for  me  from 
a  sotoba  of  the  Jodo  sect,  is  an  abbreviated  form  of  a  verse 
in  the  Smaller  Sukhavati-VyQha  (see  Buddhist  Mahayana. 
Texts :  "  Sacred  Books  of  the  East"),  which  Max  MUller  has 
thus  rendered  in  full:  —  "  In  that  world  SukhSvati,  O  Sari- 
putra,  there  is  neither  bodily  nor  mental  pain  for  living 
beings.  The  sources  of  happiness  are  innumerable  there 
For  that  reason  is  that  world  called  Sukhlvati,  the  happy." 


116     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

"Hail  unto  the  Lord  Amida  Buddha!  The 
Golden  Mouth  has  said,  — '  All  living  beings  that 
fix  their  thoughts  upon  the  Buddha  shall  be  re 
ceived  and  welcomed  into  his  Paradise;  —  never 
shall  they  be  forsaken.' " 1 

But  texts  like  these,  though  dear  to  popular 
faith,  make  no  appeal  to  the  higher  Buddhism, 
which  admits  heaven  as  a  temporary  condition 
only,  not  to  be  desired  by  the  wise.  Indeed,  the 
MahSytna  texts,  describing  SukhSvatf,  themselves 
suggest  its  essentially  illusive  character,  —  a  world 
of  jewel-lakes  and  perfumed  airs  and  magical 
birds,  but  a  world  also  in  which  the  voices  of 
winds  and  waters  and  singers  perpetually  preach 
the  unreality  of  self  and  the  impermanency  of  all 
things.  And  even  the  existence  of  this  Western 
Paradise  might  seem  to  be  denied  in  other  sotoba- 
texts  of  deeper  significance,  —  such  as  this :  — 

"Originally  there  is  no  East  or  West :  where 
then  can  South  or  North  be?"2 

"  Originally,"  —  that  is  to  say,  in  relation  to  the 
Infinite.  The  relations  and  the  ideas  of  the  Con 
ditioned  cease  to  exist  for  the  Unconditioned.  Yet 

1  From  a  sotoba  of  the  Jodo  sect 
a  Sotoba  of  the  Jodo  sect. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    117 

this  truth  does  not  really  imply  denial  of  other 
worlds  of  relation,  —  states  of  bliss  to  which  the 
strong  may  rise,  and  states  of  pain  to  which  the 
weak  may  descend.  It  is  a  reminder  only.  All 
conditions  are  impermanent,  and  so,  in  the  pro- 
founder  sense,  unreal.  The  Absolute,  —  the  Su 
preme  Buddha,  —  is  the  sole  Reality.  This  doctrine 
appears  in  many  sotoba-inscriptions :  — 

"  The  Blue  Mountain  of  itself  remains  eter 
nally  unmoved:  the  White  Clouds  come  of 
themselves  and  go."  1 

By  "the  Blue  Mountain"  is  meant  the  Sole 
Reality  of  Mind;  — by  "the  White  Clouds,"  the 
phenomenal  universe.  Yet  the  universe  exists  but 
as  a  dream  of  Mind :  — 

"  If  any  one  desire  to  obtain  full  knowledge  of 
all  the  Buddhas  of  the  past,  the  present,  and  the 
future,  let  him  learn  to  comprehend  the  true 
nature  of  the  World  of  Law.  Then  will  he  per 
ceive  that  all  things  are  hut  the  production  of 
Mind."  3 

"  By  the  learning  and  the  practice  of  the  True 

1  Sotoba  of  the  Jodo  sect. 
*  Sotoba  of  the  Zen  sect. 


118     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Doctrine,  the  Non-Apparent  becomes  [for  us] 
the  only  Reality."1 

The  universe  is  a  phantom,  and  a  phantom 
likewise  the  body  of  man,  together  with  all  emo 
tions,  ideas,  and  memories  that  make  up  the 
complex  of  his  sensuous  Self.  But  is  this  evanes 
cent  Self  the  whole  of  man's  inner  being  ?  Not 
so,  proclaim  the  sotoba  :  — 

"All  living  beings  have  the  nature  of  Buddha. 
The  Nyorai*  eternally  living,  is  alone  un 
changeable."  8 

"  The  Kegon-Kyo 4  declares : — '  In  all  living 
creatures  there  exists,  and  has  existed  from  the 
beginning,  the  Real-Law  Nature :  all  by  their 
nature  contain  the  original  essence  of  Buddha.' " 

Sharing  the  nature  of  the  Unchangeable,  we 
share  the  Eternal  Reality.  In  the  highest  sense, 
man  also  is  divine :  — 

"  The  Mind  becomes  Buddha  :  the  Mind  itself 
is  Buddha." 6 

»  Sotoba  of  the  Zen  sect.  2  Tathlgata. 

8  From  a  sotoba  of  the  Zen  sect. 

*  Avatamsaka  SQtra.  —  This  text  is  also  from  a  Zen 
sotoba. 

6  From  a  tombstone  of  the  Jodo  sect.  The  text  is  evi 
dently  from  the  Chinese  version  of  the  Amitayur-Dhy- 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    119 

"In  the  Engaku-Kyo1  it  is  written:  'Now 
for  the  first  time  I  perceive  that  all  living  beings 
have  the  original  Buddha-nature,  —  wherefore 
Birth  and  Death  and  Nirvana  have  become  for 
me  as  a  dream  of  the  night  that  is  gone.' " 

Yet  what  of  the  Buddhas  who  successively 
melt  into  Nirvana,  and  nevertheless  "return  in 
their  order  "  ?  Are  they,  too,  phantoms  ?  —  is 
their  individuality  also  unreal?  Probably  the 
question  admits  of  many  different  answers, — • 
since  there  is  a  Buddhist  Realism  as  well  as  a 
Buddhist  Idealism ;  but,  for  present  purposes,  the 
following  famous  text  is  a  sufficient  reply  :  — 

NAMU  ITSU  SHIN  SAN-ZE"  SHO  BUTSU! 

"Hail  to  all  the  Buddhas  of  the  Three  Exist 
ences?  who  are  but  one  in  the  One  Mind!  " * 

Sna-SOtra  (see  Buddhist  Mahay  ana  Texts:  "  Sacred  Books  of 
the  East").  It  reads  in  the  English  version  thus:  —  "In 
fine,  it  is  your  mind  that  becomes  Buddha;  —  nay,  it  is 
your  rru'nd  that  is  indeed  Buddha." 

1  Pratyeka-Buddha  sastra  ? — From  a  sotoba  of  the  Zen 
sect. 

2  San-^e,  or  mitsu-yo, — the  Past,  Present,  and  Future. 

8  "Mind"  is  here  expressed  by  the  character  shin  or 
kokoro. — The  text  is  from  a  Zen  sotoba,  but  is  used  also,  I 
am  told,  by  the  mystical  sects  of  Tendai  and  Shingon. 


120     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

In  relation  to  the  Absolute,  no  difference  exists 
even  between  gods  and  men :  — 

"  The  Golden  Verse  of  the  Jo-sho-sa-chi  J 
says:  — '  This  doctrine  is  equal  and  alike  for  all ; 
there  is  neither  superior  nor  inferior,  neither 
above  nor  below.' " 

Nay,  according  to  a  still  more  celebrated  text, 
there  is  not  even  any  difference  of  personality :  — 

Jl  TA  HO  KAI  BYO  DO  RI  YAKU. 

"  The  '  I'  and  the  '  Not-/'  are  not  different  in 
the  World  of  Law :  both  are  favored  alike."  * 

And  a  still  more  wonderful  text  —  (to  my 
thinking,  the  most  remarkable  of  all  Buddhist 
texts)  —  declares  that  the  world  itself,  phantom 
though  it  be,  is  yet  not  different  from  Mind :  — 

SO  MOKU  KOKU  DO  SHITSU  KAI  JO  BUTSU. 

"  Grass,  trees,  countries,  the  earth  itself,  — 
all  these  shall  enter  wholly  into  Buddhahood." 8 

1  KritySnushthSna-gBSna.— The  text  is  from  a  sotoba  of 
the  Shingon  sect. 

8  More  literally,  "  Self  and  Other : "  i.  e.,  the  Ego  and  the 
Non-Ego  in  the  meaning  of  "  I "  and  "  Thou."  There  is  no 
"I"  and  "Thou"  in  Buddhahood.— This  text  was  copied 
from  a  Zen  sotoba. 

»  From  a  Zen  sotoba. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    121 

Literally,  "  shall  become  Buddha ; "  that  is, 
they  shall  enter  into  Buddhahood  or  Nirvana. 
All  that  we  term  matter  will  be  transmuted 
therefore  into  Mind,  —  Mind  with  the  attributes 
of  Infinite  Sentiency,  Infinite  Vision,  and  Infinite 
Knowledge.  As  phenomenon,  matter  is  unreal ; 
but  transcendentally  it  belongs  by  its  ultimate 
nature  to  the  Sole  Reality. 

Such  a  philosophical  position  is  likely  to  puzzle 
the  average  reader.  To  call  matter  and  mind  but 
two  aspects  of  the  Ultimate  Reality  will  not  seem 
irrational  to  students  of  Herbert  Spencer.  But  to 
say  that  matter  is  a  phenomenon,  an  illusion,  a 
dream,  explains  nothing;  —  as  phenomenon  it 
exists,  and  having  a  destiny  attributed  to  it,  must 
be  considered  objectively.  Equally  unsatisfying 
is  the  statement  that  phenomena  are  aggregates 
of  Karma.  What  is  the  nature  of  the  particles 
of  the  aggregate  ?  Or,  in  plainest  language,  what 
is  the  illusion  made  of  ? 

Not  in  the  original  Buddhist  scriptures,  and 
still  less  in  the  literature  of  Buddhist  cemeteries, 
need  the  reply  be  sought.  Such  questions  are 
dealt  with  in  the  sastras  rather  than  in  the  sutras ; 
—  also  in  various  Japanese  commentaries  upon 
both.  A  friend  has  furnished  me  with  some 


122     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

very  curious  and  unfamiliar  Shingon  texts  con 
taining  answers  to  the  enigma. 

The  Shingon  sect,  1  may  observe,  is  a  mystical 
sect,  which  especially  proclaims  the  identity  of 
mind  and  substance,  and  boldly  carries  out  the 
doctrine  to  its  furthest  logical  consequences.  Its 
founder  and  father  Ku-kai,  better  known  as  Kobo- 
daishi,  declared  in  his  book  Hi^pki  that  matter  is 
not  different  in  essence  from  spirit.  "As  to  the 
doctrine  of  grass,  trees,  and  things  non -sentient 
becoming  Buddhas  "  he  writes,  "  I  say  that  the 
refined  forms  [ultimate  nature]  of  spiritual  bodies 
consist  of  the  Five  Great  Elements ;  that  Ether * 
consists  of  the  Five  Great  Elements ;  and  that 
the  refined  forms  of  bodies  spiritual,  of  ether,  of 
plants,  of  trees,  consequently  pervade  all  space. 
This  ether,  these  plants  and  trees,  are  themselves 
spiritual  bodies.  To  the  eye  of  flesh,  plants  and 
trees  appear  to  be  gross  matter.  But  to  the  eye 

1  The  Chinese  word  literally  means  "  void,"  — as  in  the 
expression  "  Void  Supreme,"  to  signify  the  state  of  Nirvana. 
But  the  philosophical  reference  here  is  to  the  ultimate  sub 
stance,  or  primary  matter ;  and  the  rendering  of  the  term 
by  "Ether"  (rather  in  the  Greek  than  the  modern  sense, 
of  course)  has  the  sanction  of  Bunyiu  Nanjio,  and  the  ap 
proval  of  other  eminent  Sanscrit  and  Chinese  scholars. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    12$ 

of  the  Buddha  they  are  composed  of  minute  spir 
itual  entities.  Therefore,  even  without  any 
change  in  their  substance,  there  can  be  no  error 
or  impropriety  in  our  calling  them  Buddhas." 

The  use  of  the  term  "  non-sentient "  in  the 
foregoing  would  seem  to  involve  a  contradiction  ; 
but  this  is  explained  away  by  a  dialogue  in  the 
book  SU-man-gi :  — 

Q.  —  Are  not  grass  and  trees  sometimes  called  sentient  ? 

A.  —  They  can  be  so  called. 

Q.  —  But  they  have  also  been  called  non-sentient :  how 
can  they  be  called  sentient  ? 

A.  —  In  all  substance  from  the  beginning  exists  the  im 
press  of  the  wisdom-nature  of  the  Nyorai  (Tatbagata) : 
therefore  to  call  such  things  sentient  is  not  error. 

"  Potentially  sentient,"  the  reader  might  con 
clude  ;  but  this  conclusion  would  be  wrong.  The 
Shingon  thought  is  not  of  a  potential  sentiency, 
but  of  a  latent  sentiency  which  although  to  us 
non-apparent  and  non-imaginable,  is  nevertheless 
both  real  and  actual.  Commenting  upon  the 
words  of  Kobodaishi  above  cited,  the  great  priest 
Yu-kai  not  only  reiterates  the  opinion  of  his 
master,  but  asserts  that  it  is  absurd  to  deny  that 
plants,  trees,  and  what  we  call  inaminate  objects, 
can  practise  virtue  !  "  Since  Mind,"  he  declares, 


124     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

"  pervades  the  whole  World  of  Law,  the  grasses, 
plants,  trees,  and  earth  pervaded  by  it  must  all 
have  mind,  and  must  turn  their  mind  to  Buddha- 
hood  and  practise  virtue.  Do  not  doubt  the  doc 
trine  of  our  sect,  regarding  the  Non- Duality  of 
the  Pervading  and  the  Pervaded,  merely  because 
of  the  distinction  made  in  common  parlance  be 
tween  Matter  and  Mind."  As  for  bow  plants  or 
stones  can  practise  virtue,  the  sutras  indeed  have 
nothing  to  say.  But  that  is  because  the  sutras, 
being  intended  for  man,  teach  only  what  man 
should  know  and  do. 

The  reader  will  now,  perhaps,  be  better  able  to 
follow  out  the  really  startling  Buddhist  hypothe 
sis  of  the  nature  of  matter  to  its  more  than  start 
ling  conclusion.  (It  must  not  be  contemned 
because  of  the  fantasy  of  five  elements ;  for  these 
are  declared  to  be  only  modes  of  one  ultimate.) 
All  forms  of  what  we  call  matter  are  really  but 
aggregates  of  spiritual  units;  and  all  apparent 
differences  of  substance  represent  only  differences 
of  combination  among  these  units.  The  differ 
ences  of  combination  are  caused  by  special  ten 
dencies  and  affinities  of  the  units ;  —  the  tendency 
of  each  being  the  necessary  result  of  its  particular 
evolutional  history  —  (using  the  term  "  evolu- 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead 

tional "  in  a  purely  ethical  sense).  All  integra 
tions  of  apparent  substance,  —  the  million  suns 
and  planets  of  the  universe,  —  represent  only  the 
affinities  of  such  ghostly  ultimates ;  and  every 
human  act  or  thought  registers  itself  through 
enormous  time  by  some  knitting  or  loosening  of 
forces  working  for  good  or  evil. 

Grass,  trees,  earth,  and  all  things  seem  to  us 
what  they  are  not,  simply  because  the  eye  of 
flesh  is  blind.  Life  itself  is  a  curtain  hiding 
reality,  —  somewhat  as  the  vast  veil  of  day  con 
ceals  from  our  sight  the  countless  orbs  of  Space. 
But  the  texts  of  the  cemeteries  proclaim  that  the 
purified  mind,  even  while  prisoned  within  the 
body,  may  enter  for  moments  of  ecstasy  into 
union  with  the  Supreme  :  — 

"  The  One  Bright  Moon  illuminates  the  mind 
in  the  meditation  called  Zenjo."  1 

The  "One  Bright  Moon"  is  the  Supreme 
Buddha.  By  the  pure  of  heart  He  may  even  be 
seen :  — 

1  Literally,  "illuminates  the  Zenjo-mind."  ZenjS  is  the 
Sanscrit  Dhyana.  It  is  believed  that  in  real  Dhyana  the 
mind  can  hold  communication  with  the  Absolute.  —  From 
a  sotoba  of  the  Zen  sect. 


126     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

"  Hail  unto  the  Wondrous  Law!  By  attain 
ing  to  the  state  of  single-mindedness  we  behold 
the  Buddha." * 

Greater  delight  there  is  none  :  — 

"  Incomparable  the  face  of  the  Nyorai,  —  sur 
passing  all  beauty  in  this  world!  " a 

But  to  see  the  face  of  one  Buddha  is  to  see 
all:  — 

"  The  Dai-en-kyo-cbi-kyo*  says :  —  '  By  enter 
ing  deeply  into  the  meditation  Zenjo,  one  may 
see  all  the  Buddhas  of  the  Ten  Directions  of 
Space.' " 

"  The  Golden  Mouth  has  said:  — '  He  whose 
mind  can  discern  the  being  of  one  Buddha,  may 
easily  behold  three,  four,  five  Buddhas,  —  nay, 
all  the  Buddhas  of  the  Three  Existences.' "  * 

Which  mystery  is  thus  explained  :  — 

1  From  a  sotoba  of  the  Tendai  sect. 

2  From  a  Jodo  sotoba. 

«  Literally,  "the  Great-Round-Mirror- Wisdom-SOtra." 
Sansc.,  Adarsana-gnana.  —  From  a  Zen  sotoba. 
*  Sotoba  of  the  Zen  sect. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    127 

"  The  Myo-kwan-satsu-cbi-kyo l  has  said :  — 
Tbe  mind  tloat  detaches  itself  from  all  things 
becomes  the  very  mind  of  Buddha."3 

Visitors  to  the  older  Buddhist  temples  of  Japan 
can  scarcely  fail  to  notice  the  remarkable  char 
acter  of  the  gilded  aureoles  attached  to  certain 
images.  These  aureoles,  representing  circles, 
disks,  or  ovals  of  glory,  contain  numbers  of  little 
niches  shaped  like  archings  or  whirls  of  fire,  each 
enshrining  a  Buddha  or  a  Bodhisattva.  A  verse 
of  the  Amitlyur-Dhya'na  Sutra  might  have  sug 
gested  this  symbolism  to  the  Japanese  sculptors : 
—  "In  the  halo  of  that  Buddba  there  are  Bud- 
dbas  innumerable  as  the  sands  of  the  Ganga."  * 
Icon  and  verse  alike  express  that  doctrine  of  the 
One  in  Many  suggested  by  the  foregoing  sotoba- 
texts;  and  the  assurance  that  he  who  sees  one 
Buddha  can  see  all,  may  further  be  accepted  as 
signifying  that  he  who  perceives  one  great  truth 
fully,  will  be  able  to  perceive  countless  truths. 

But  even  to  the  spiritually  blind  the  light  must 
come  at  last.  A  host  of  cemetery  texts  proclaim 

1  Pratyaveksbana-gnana. 
*  From  a  Zen  sotoba. 

8  Buddbist  Mabayana  Texts :  "  Sacred  Books  of  the 
East,"  vol.  xlix.  p.  180. 


128     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  Infinite  Love  that  watches  all,  and  the  cer 
tainty  of  ultimate  and  universal  salvation :  — 

"Possessing  all  the  Virtues  and  all  the 
Powers,  the  Eyes  of  the  Infinite  Compassion  be 
hold  all  living  creatures."  1 

"  The  Kongd-takara-td-mei*  proclaims :  — '  All 
living  beings  in  the  Six  States  of  Existence* 
shall  he  delivered  from  the  bonds  of  attachment ; 
their  minds  and  their  bodies  alike  shall  be  freed 
from  desire ;  and  they  shall  obtain  the  Supreme 
Enlightenment.' " 

"  The  Sutra  says :  — '  Changing  the  hearts  of 
all  beings,  I  cause  them  to  enter  upon  the  Way  of 
Buddbabood:" 4 

Yet  the  supreme  conquest  can  be  achieved  only 
by  self -effort :  — 

"  Through  the  destruction  of  the  Three  Poisons  * 

1  From  a  sotoba  of  the  Zen  sect. 

8  Lit.:  "the  Inscription  of  the  Tower  of  Diamond,"  — 
name  of  a  Buddhist  text. 

8  The  Six  States  of  Existence  are  Heaven,  Man,  Demons, 
Hell,  Hungry  Spirits  (Pretas),  and  Animals.  —  The  above  is 
from  a  Zen  sotoba. 

4  Sotoba  of  the  Nichiren  sect. 

*  San-doku  or  Mitsu-no-doku,  viz. :  —  Anger,  Ignorance, 
and  Desire. — From  a  Zen  sotoba. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    129 

one  may  rise  above  the  Three  States  of  Exist 
ence." 

The  Three  Existences  signify  time  past,  present, 
and  future.  To  rise  above —  (more  literally,  to 
"  emerge  from  ")  —  the  Three  Existences  means 
therefore  to  pass  beyond  Space  and  Time,  —  to 
become  one  with  the  Infinite.  The  conquest  of 
Time  is  indeed  possible  only  for  a  Buddha ;  but 
all  shall  become  Buddhas.  Even  a  woman,  while 
yet  a  woman,  may  reach  Buddhahood,  as  this 
Nichiren  text  bears  witness,  inscribed  above  the 
grave  of  a  girl :  — 

KAI  YO  KEN  PI  RYO-NYO  JO  BUTSU. 

"  All  bebeld  from  afar  the  Dragon  Maiden 
become  a  Buddha." 

The  reference  is  to  the  beautiful  legend  of 
SSgara,  the  daughter  of  the  N2ga-king,  in  the 
Myd-bo-renge-kyo.1 

1  Japanese  title  of  the  Saddharma-Pundarika  SQtra. 
See,  for  legend,  chap.  xi.  of  Kern's  translation  in  the  Sacred 
Books  of  the  East  series. 


130     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 


IV 

Though  not  representing,  nor  even  suggesting, 
the  whole  range  of  sotoba-literature,  the  forego 
ing  texts  will  sufficiently  indicate  the  quality  of 
its  philosophical  interest.  The  inscriptions  of  the 
haka,  or  tombs,  have  another  kind  of  interest; 
but  before  treating  of  these,  a  few  words  should 
be  said  about  the  tombs  themselves.  I  cannot 
attempt  detail,  because  any  description  of  the 
various  styles  of  such  monuments  would  require 
a  large  and  profusely  illustrated  volume ;  while 
the  study  of  their  sculptures  belongs  to  the  enor 
mous  subject  of  Buddhist  iconography,  —  foreign 
to  the  purpose  of  this  essay. 

There  are  hundreds,  —  probably  thousands,  — 
of  different  forms  of  Buddhist  funeral  monu 
ments,  —  ranging  from  the  unhewn  boulder,  with 
a  few  ideographs  scratched  on  it,  of  the  poorest 
village-graveyard,  to  the  complicated  turret  (hage- 
hioi)  enclosing  a  shrine  with  images,  and  sur 
mounted  with  a  spire  of  umbrella-shaped  disks  or 
parasols  (Sanscrit:  tcbdtras),  —  possibly  repre 
senting  the  old  Chinese  stQpa.  The  most  common 
class  of  baka  are  plain.  A  large  number  of  the 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    131 

better  class  have  lotos-designs  chiselled  upon  some 
part  of  them :  —  either  the  pedestal  is  sculptured 
so  as  to  represent  lotos-petals ;  or  a  single  blossom 
is  cut  in  relief  or  intaglio  on  the  face  of  the  tablet ; 
or  —  (but  this  is  rare)  —  a  whole  lotos-plant, 
leaves  and  flowers,  is  designed  in  relief  upon  one 
or  two  sides  of  the  monument.  In  the  costly 
class  of  tombs  symbolizing  the  Five  Buddhist 
Elements,  the  eight-petalled  lotos-symbol  may  be 
found  repeated,  with  decorative  variations,  upon 
three  or  four  portions  of  their  elaborate  structure. 
Occasionally  we  find  beautiful  reliefs  upon  tomb 
stones,  —  images  of  Buddhas  or  Bodhisattvas ; 
and  not  unfrequently  a  statue  of  Jizo  may  be  seen 
erected  beside  a  grave.  But  the  sculptures  of 
this  class  are  mostly  old  ;  —  the  finest  pieces  in 
the  Kobudera  cemetery,  for  example,  were  exe 
cuted  between  two  and  three  hundred  years  ago. 
Finally  I  may  observe  that  the  family  crest  or 
mon  of  the  dead  is  cut  upon  the  front  of  the 
tomb,  and  sometimes  also  upon  the  little  stone 
tank  set  before  it. 

The  inscriptions  very  seldom  include  any  texts 
from  the  holy  books.  On  the  front  of  the  mon 
ument,  below  the  chiselled  crest,  the  kaimyo  is 


132     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

graven,  together,  perhaps,  with  a  single  mystical 
character  —  Sanscrit  or  Chinese ;  on  the  left  side 
is  usually  placed  the  record  of  the  date  of  death  ; 
and  on  the  right,  the  name  of  the  person  or 
family  erecting  the  tomb.  Such  is  now,  at  least, 
the  ordinary  arrangement ;  but  there  are  numer 
ous  exceptions ;  and  as  the  characters  are  most 
often  disposed  in  vertical  columns,  it  is  quite  easy 
to  put  all  the  inscriptions  upon  the  face  of  a  very 
narrow  monument.  Occasionally  the  real  name 
is  also  cut  upon  some  part  of  the  stone,  —  to 
gether,  perhaps,  with  some  brief  record  of  the 
memorable  actions  of  the  dead.  Excepting  the 
kaimyo,  and  the  sect-invocation  often  accompany 
ing  it,  the  inscriptions  upon  the  ordinary  class  of 
tombs  are  secular  in  character ;  and  the  real  in 
terest  of  such  epigraphy  is  limited  to  the  kaimyo. 
By  kai-myo  (s/7#-name)  is  meant  the  Buddhist 
name  given  to  the  spirit  of  the  dead,  according  to 
the  custom  of  all  sects  except  the  Ikko  or  Shinshu. 
In  a  special  sense  the  term  kai,  or  sila,  refers  to 
precepts  of  conduct J ;  in  a  general  sense  it  might 

1  There  is  a  great  variety  of  sf/a ;  —  five,  eight,  and  ten  for 
different  classes  of  laity ;  two  hundred  and  fifty  for  priests ; 
—  five  hundred  for  nuns,  etc.,  etc. —  Beit  here  observed 
that  the  posthumous  Buddhist  name  given  to  the  dead  must 
not  be  studied  as  referring  always  to  conduct  in  this  world, 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    133 

be  rendered  as  "  salvation  by  works."  But  the 
Shinshu  allows  no  kai  to  any  mortal ;  it  does 
not  admit  the  doctrine  of  immediate  salvation  by 
works,  but  only  by  faith  in  Amida ;  and  the 
posthumous  appellations  which  it  bestows  are 
therefore  called  not  kai-myo,  but  bo-myo,  or 
"  Law-names." 

Before  Meiji  the  social  rank  occupied  by  any 
one  during  life  was  suggested  by  the  kaimyo. 
The  use,  with  a  kaimyo,  of  the  two  characters 
reading  in  den,  and  signifying  "  temple-dweller," 
or  "  mansion-dweller,"  —  or  of  the  more  com 
mon  single  character  in,  signifying  "  temple  "  or 
"  mansion,"  was  a  privilege  reserved  to  the  nobil 
ity  and  gentry.  Class -distinctions  were  further 
indicated  by  suffixes.  Koji,  —  a  term  partly  cor- 
responding  to  our  "  lay-brother,"  —  and  Daishi, 
"  great  elder-sister,"  were  honorifically  attached  to 
the  kaimyo  of  the  samurai  and  the  aristocracy ; 
while  the  simpler  appellations  of  Shinsbi  and 
Shinnyo,  respectively  signifying  "faithful  [be 
lieving]  man,"  "  faithful  woman,"  followed  the 

but  rather  as  referring  to  sila  in  another  world.  The  kai 
myo  is  thus  a  title  of  spiritual  initiation.  —  Some  Japanese 
Buddhist  sects  hold  what  are  called  Ju-Kai-E  ("  st/a-giving 
assemblies"),  at  which  the  initiated  are  given  kaimyo  of  an 
other  sort, — st/a-names  of  admission  as  neophytes. 


Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

kaimyo  of  the  humble.  These  forms  are  still  used ; 
but  the  distinctions  they  once  maintained  have 
mostly  passed  away,  and  the  privilege  of  the 
knightly  "  in  den,"  and  its  accompaniments,  is 
free  to  any  one  willing  to  pay  for  it.  At  all 
times  the  words  Doji  and  Donyo  seem  to  have 
been  attached  to  the  kaimyo  of  children.  Do, 
alone,  means  a  lad,  but  when  combined  with  ji  or 
nyo  it  means  "  child  "  in  the  adjectival  sense ;  — 
so  that  we  may  render  Doji  as  "  Child-son,"  and 
Donyo  as  "  Child-daughter.''  Children  are  thus 
called  who  die  before  reaching  their  fifteenth  year, 
—  the  majority-year  by  the  old  samurai  code; 
a  lad  of  fifteen  being  deemed  fit  for  war-service. 
In  the  case  of  children  who  die  within  a  year 
after  birth,  the  terms  Gaini  and  Gainyo  occasion 
ally  replace  Doji  and  Donyo.  The  syllable  Gai 
here  represents  a  Chinese  character  meaning 
"  suckling." 

Different  Buddhists  sects  have  different  form 
ulas  for  the  composition  of  the  kaimyo  and 
its  addenda ;  — but  this  subject  would  require  a 
whole  special  treatise ;  and  I  shall  mention  only 
a  few  sectarian  customs.  The  Shingon  sect  some 
times  put  a  Sanscrit  character  —  the  symbol  of 
a  Buddha  —  before  their  kaimyo;  —  the  Shin 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead 

head  theirs  with  an  abbreviation  of  the  holy 
name  Sakyamuni;  —  the  Nichiren  often  preface 
their  inscriptions  with  the  famous  invocation, 
Namu  myo  ho  renge  kyo  ( "  Hail  to  the  Sutra  of 
the  Lotos  of  the  Good  Law !  " ),  —  sometimes 
followed  by  the  words  Sen^o  daidai  ("fore 
fathers  of  the  generations  " ) ;  —  the  Jodo,  like 
the  Ikko,  use  an  abbreviation  of  the  name  Sakya 
muni,  or,  occasionally,  the  invocation  Namu 
Amida  Butsu  !  —  and  they  compose  their  four- 
character  kaimyo  with  the  aid  of  two  ideographs 
signifying  "  honour  "  or  "  fame  ;  "  —  the  Zen 
sect  contrive  that  the  first  and  the  last  character 
of  the  kaimyo,  when  read  together,  shall  form  a 
particular  Buddhist  term,  or  mystical  phrase, — 
except  when  the  kaimyo  consists  of  only  two 
characters. 

Probably  the  word  "  mansion  "  in  kaimyS- in 
scriptions  would  suggest  to  most  Western  readers 
the  idea  of  heavenly  mansions.  But  the  fancy 
would  be  at  fault.  The  word  has  no  celestial 
signification ;  yet  the  history  of  its  epitaphic  use 
is  curious  enough.  Anciently,  at  the  death  of 
any  illustrious  man,  a  temple  was  erected  for  the 
special  services  due  to  his  spirit,  and  also  for  the 
conservation  of  relics  or  memorials  of  him.  Con- 


136     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

fucianism  introduced  into  Japan  the  ibai,  or  mor 
tuary  tablet,  called  by  the  Chinese  sbin-sbu ; l  and 
a  portion  of  the  temple  was  set  apart  to  serve  as 
a  chapel  for  the  ibai,  and  the  ancestral  cult.  Any 
such  memorial  temple  was  called  in,  or "  man 
sion," —  doubtless  because  the  august  spirit  was 
believed  to  occupy  it  at  certain  periods ;  —  and 
the  term  yet  survives  in  the  names  of  many 
celebrated  Buddhist  temples,  — such  as  the  Chion- 
In,  of  Kyoto.  With  the  passing  of  time,  this 
custom  was  necessarily  modified ;  for  as  privileges 
were  extended  and  aristocracies  multiplied,  the 
erection  of  a  separate  temple  to  each  notable 
presently  became  impossible.  Buddhism  met  the 
difficulty  by  conferring  upon  every  individual  of 
distinction  the  posthumous  title  of  in-den,  —  and 
affixing  to  this  title  the  name  of  an  imaginary 
temple  or  "mansion."  So  to-day,  in  the  vast 
majority  of  kaimyo,  the  character  in  refers  only 
to  the  temple  that  would  have  been  built  had  cir 
cumstance  permitted,  but  now  exists  only  in  the 
pious  desire  of  those  who  love  and  reverence  the 
departed. 
Nevertheless  the  poetry  of  these  in- names  does 

1  That  is,  according  to  the  Japanese  reading  of  the 
Chinese  characters. 


TOMB  IN  KOBUDERA  CEMETERY 

(The  relief  represents  Seishi  'Jiosatsu —  BoJhisatt-va  Mahasthaina —  in 
meditation.     It  is  i8j  years  old.     The  white  patches  on  the 
surface  are  lichen  growths) 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    137 

possess  some  real  meaning.  They  are  nearly  all 
of  them  names  such  as  would  be  given  to  real 
Buddhist  temples,  —  names  of  virtues  and  sancti 
ties  and  meditations,  —  names  of  ecstasies  and 
powers  and  splendors  and  luminous  immeasurable 
unfoldings,  —  names  of  all  ways  and  means  of 
escape  from  the  Six  States  of  Existence  and  the 
sorrow  of  "peopling  the  cemeteries  again  and 
again." 

The  general  character  and  arrangement  of 
kaimyo  can  best  be  understood  by  the  aid  of  a 
few  typical  specimens.  The  first  example  is  from 
a  beautiful  tomb  in  the  cemetery  of  Kobudera, 
which  is  sculptured  with  a  relief  representing  the 
Bodhisattva  Maha'sthama  (Seishi  Bosatsu)  meditat 
ing.  All  the  text  in  this  instance  has  been  cut 
upon  the  face  of  the  monument,  to  left  and  right 
of  the  icon.  Transliterated  into  Romaji  it  reads 
thus:  — 

(Kaimyo.) 

Tei-Sho-In,  Ho-so  MYO-SHIN,  Daisbi. 

(Record.) 
— Sh6toku  Ni,  Jin  shin  Shimotsuki,  jiu-ku  nichi. 


138     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

[Translation :  — 

—  Great  Elder-Sister,  WONDERFUL-REALITY- 

APPEARING-AT-THE-WlNDOW-OF-LAW,    dwelling 

in  the  Mansion  of  the  Pine  of  Chastity. 

— The  nineteenth  day  of  the  Month  of  Frost,1  second 
year  of  Shotoku,2 — the  year  being  under  the  Dragon  of 
Elder  Water.] 

For  the  sake  of  clearness,  I  have  printed  the 
posthumous  name  proper  (Ho-so  Myo-shin)  in 
small  capitals,  and  the  rest  in  italics.  The  first 
three  characters  of  the  inscription,—  Tei-Sbo-In, 
—  form  the  name  of  the  temple,  or  "  mansion." 
The  pine,  both  in  religious  and  secular  poetry,  is 
a  symbol  of  changeless  conditions  of  good,  be 
cause  it  remains  freshly-green  in  all  seasons.  The 
use  of  the  term  "  Reality  "  in  the  kaimyo  indicates 
the  state  of  unity  with  the  Absolute ;  —  by  "  Win- 
dow-of-Law  "  (Law  here  signifying  the  Buddha- 
state)  must  be  understood  that  exercise  of  virtue 
through  which  even  in  this  existence  some  percep- 

1  By  the  old  calendar,  the  eleventh  month  was  the  Month 
of  Frost. 

2  The  second  year  of  the  period  ShStoku  corresponds  to 
1712  A. D.  —  (For  the  meaning  of  the  phrase  "Dragon  of 
Elder  Water  "  the  reader  will  do  well  to  consult  Professor 
Rein's  Japan,  pp.  434-436.) 


•^ 

The  Literature  of  the  Dead     139 

tion  of  Infinite  Truth  may  be  obtained.  I  have 
already  explained  the  final  word,  Daishi  ("  great 
elder-sister  "). 

Less  mystical,  but  not  less  beautiful,  is  this 
Nichiren  kaimyo  sculptured  upon  the  grave  of 
a  young  samurai:  — 

Ko-shin  In,  Ken-do  Nichi-ki,  Koji. 

[Koji- 

Bright-Sun-on-the-Way-of-the-Wise,  in  the 
Mansion  of  Luminous  Mind.} 1 

On  the  same  stone  is  carven  the  kaimyo  of 
the  wife:  — 

Shin-hyo  In,  Myo-en  Nichi-ho,  Daishi. 

[Daishi,  — 

Spherically-Wondrous-Sunheam,  in  the  Man 
sion  of  the  Mirror  of  the  Heart.} 

Perhaps  the  reader  will  now  be  able  to  find 
interest  in  the  following  selection  of  kaimyo, 
translated  for  me  by  Japanese  scholars.  The 
inscriptions  are  of  various  rites  and  epochs ;  but  I 
have  arranged  them  only  by  class  and  sex :  — 

1  This  beautiful  kaimyo  is  identical  with  that  placed  upon 
the  monument  of  my  dear  friend  Nishida,  buried  in  the 
Nichiren  cemetery  of  Chomanji,  in  Matsud 


140     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

[MASCULINE  KAIMYO.] 

Koji,  — 

Law-Nature-Eternally-Complete,  in  the  Man 
sion  of  the  Mirror  of  Light. 

Koji,  — 

Lone-Moon-above-Snowy-Peak,  in    the   Man 
sion  of  Quiet  Light. 

Koji,  — 

Wonderful-Radiance-of-Luminous-Sound,    in 
the  Mansion  of  the  Day-dawn  of  Mind. 

Koji,  — 

Pure-Lotos-bloom-of-the-Heart ,  in  the  Mansion 
of  Shining  Beginnings. 

Koji,  — 

Real-Earnest  ness-Self -sufflcing-within,  in  the 
Mansion  of  Mystery-Penetration. 

Koji,  — 

Wonderful  -  Brightness-of-the-Clouds-of-Lawt 
in  the  Mansion  of  Wisdom-Illumination. 

Koji,  — 

Law- Echo-proclaiming- Truth,  in  the  Mansion 
of  Real  Zeal. 

Koji,— 

Ocean-of- Reason-Calmly- Full,  in  the  Mansion 
of  Self-Nature. 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    141 

Koji,  — 

Effective  -  Benevolence  -  Hearing  -  with  -  Pure- 
Heart-the-Supplications-of-the-Poor,  —  dwelling 
in  the  Mansion  of  the  Virtue  of  Pity. 

Koji,  — 

Perfect  -  Enlightenment  -  beaming  -  tranquil  - 
Glory, — in  the  Mansion  of  Supreme  Compre 
hension. 

Koji,  — 

Autumnal-Prospect-Clear-of-Cloud,  —  of  the 
Household  of  Sakyamuni,  —  in  the  Mansion  of 
the  Obedient  Heart. 

Koji,  — 

Illustrious- Brightness,  —  of  the  Household  of 
the  Buddha,  —  in  the  Mansion  of  Conspicuous 
Virtue. 

Koji,  — 

Daily-Peace-Home-Prospering,  in  the  Mansion 
of  Spherical  Completeness. 

Shinshi,  — 

Prosperity  -  wide  -  shining  -as-  the  -  Moon  -  of- 
Autumn. 

Shinshi,  — 
Vow-abiding-wondrously-without-fault. 


142     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Shinshi,  — 

Vernal-Mount  ain-bathed-in-the  -  Light  -  of-  the 
Law. 

Shinshi,  — 

Waking-to-Dhyana-at-the-  Bell  -  Peal  -of  -  the 
Wondrous- Dawn. 

Shinshi,  — 
Winter-Mountain-Chastity-Mind.1 

[FEMININE  KAIMYO] 

Daishi,  — 

Moon-Dawn-of-the-Mountain-of-Light,  dwell 
ing  in  the  August  Mansion  of  Self -witness* 

1  Signifying :  —  "  believing  man  of  mind  as  chastely  pure 
as  the  snow  upon  a  peak  in  winter." 

3  This  is  the  kaimyo  of  the  lady  for  whose  sake  the  temple 
of  Kobudera  was  built ;  and  the  words  "  Mansion  of  Self- 
witness  "  here  refer  to  the  temple  itself,  which  is  thus 
named  (Ji-Sho  In).     The  Chinese   text    reads:  —  Ji-Sho- 
In  den,  Kwo-zan    Kyo-kei,    Daishi,"  —  literally,    "  Great 
Elder  -  Sister,  Dawn-Katsura-of-Luminous-Mountain,  dwell 
ing  in  the  August  Mansion  of  Self-witness."    The  katsuraj 
(olea  fragrans)  is  a  tree  mysteriously  connected,  in  Japan-  j 
ese  poetical  fancy,  with  the  moon ;  and  its  name  is  often  I; 
used,  as  here,  to  signify  the  moon.    Katsura-no-hana,  or 
"  katsura-flower  "  is  a  poetical  term  for   moonlight. —  / 
This  kaimyd  is  remarkable  in  having  the  honorific  term 
"  August "  prefixed  to  the  name  of  the  mansion  or  temple, 
—  a  sign  of  the  high  rank  of  the  dead  lady.    The  full  date 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    143 

DaisU,  — 

Wondrous-Lotos-of  -  Fleckless  ~  Light,  in  the 
Mansion  of  the  Moonlihe  Heart. 

Daishi,  — 

Wonderful -Chastity- Responding  -  with  -  Pure- 
Mind-to-the-Summons-of-Duty,  —  in  the  Man 
sion  of  the  Great  Sea  of  Compassion. 

Daishi,  — 

Lotos-Heart-of-  Wondrous  -  Apparition,  —  in 
the  Mansion  of  Luminous  Perfume. 

Daishi,  — 

Clear -Light -of -the- Spotless-Moon,  in  the  Man 
sion  of  Spring-time- Eve. 

Kaishi,  — 

Pure- Mind- as-a- Sun- of -Compassion,  in  the 
Mansion  of  Real  Light. 

Daishi,  — 

Wondrous-Lotos-of-Fragrance-Etherial,  in  the 
Mansion  of  Law-Nature. 

Shinnyo,  — 
Rejoicing-in-the-Way-of-the-Infinite. 

inscribed  is  "twenty-eighth  day  of  Mid-Autumn"  (the  old 
eighth  month)  "of    the  seventeenth  year  of  Kwansei" 
'  (1640  A.  D.) 


144     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Sbinnyo,  — 

Excellent  -  Courage  -  to-follow-Wisdom-to-the- 
End. 

Shinnyo,  — 

Winter-Moon-shedding-purest-Light. 
Shinnyo,  — 

Luminous  -  Shadow  -  in  -  the-Plumflower-Cham- 
ber. 

Shinnyo,  — 
Virtue-fragrant-as-the-Odor-of-the-Lotos. 

[CHILDREN'S  KAIMYO. —MALE.] 

Dai-Ddji,1  — 

Instantly  -  Attaining  -to-  the  -  Perfect  -  Peace, 
dwelling  in  the  August  Mansion  of  Purity. 

Dai-Ddji?—  . 

Permeating-Lucidity-of-the-Pure-  Grove,  dwel 
ling  in  the  August  Mansion  of  Blossom- 
Fragrance. 

1  The  prefix  dai  (great)  before  the  ordinary  term  doji 
(male  child)  is  of  rare  occurrence.   Probably  the  lad  was  of 
princely  birth.  The  grave  is  in  a  reserved  part  of  the  Kobu- 
dera  cemetery ;  and  the  year-date  of  death  is  "  the  fourth  of 
Enky5  "  —  corresponding  to  1747. 

2  The  tomb  bearing  this  kaimyo  is  set  beside  that  in 
scribed  with  the  kaimyo  preceding.    Probably  the  boys' 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    145 

Gaini,  — 
Frost-Glimmer. 

Doji,  — 
Dewy-Light. 

Doji,  — 
Dream-of-Spring. 

Doji,  — 
Spring-Frost. 

Doji,  — 
Ethereal-Nature. 

Doji,  — 
Rain-of-the-Law-from-translucent-Cloud$. 

[CHILDREN'S  KAIMYO.  —  FEMALE.] 

Dai-Donyo,  *  — 

Bright- Shining- Height-of-Wisdom,  dwelling  in 
the  August  Mansion  of  Fragrant  Trees. 

were  brothers.  In  both  instances  we  have  the  honorific 
prefix  "dai,"  and  the  term  "August "  qualifying  the  man 
sion-name.  The  year-date  of  death  is  "  the  second  of 
Kwan-en  "(1749). 

1  Probably  a  princely  child,  —  sister  apparently  of  the 
highborn  boys  before  referred  to.    She  is  buried  beside 
them  in  Kobudera.    Observe  here  again  the  use  of  the  pre 
fix  dai, — this  time  before  the  term  donyo, "  child-girl "  at 
10 


146    Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Gainyo,  — 
Snowy-Bubble. 

Gainyo,  — 
Shining-Phantasm . 

Donyo  f  — 
Plumflower-Ligbt. 

Donyo,  — 
Dream-Phantasm. 

Donyo,  — 
Chaste-Spring. 

Ddny*  — 
Wisdom-Mirror-of-Flawless-Appearing. 

Donyo,  — 
Wondrous-Excellence-of -Fragrant -Snow. 

After  having  studied  the  sotoba-texts  previously 
cited,  the  reader  should  be  able  to  divine  the 
meaning  of  most  of  the  kaimyo  above  given. 
At  all  events  he  will  understand  such  frequently. 

"  child-daughter."  Perhaps  the  dai  here  would  be  better 
rendered  by  "grand"  than  by  "great."  Notice  that  the 
term  "  August "  precedes  the  mansion-name  in  this  case  also. 
The  date  of  death  is  given  as  "  the  sixth  year  of  Horeki  " 
(1756). 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    147 

repeated  terms  as  "  Moon,"  "  Lotos,"  "  Law." 
But  he  may  be  puzzled  by  other  expressions ;  and 
some  further  explanation  will.,  perhaps,  not  be 
unwelcome. 

Besides  expressing  a  pious  hope  for  the  higher 
happiness  of  the  departed,  or  uttering  some 
assurance  of  special  conditions  in  the  spiritual 
world,  a  great  number  of  kaimyo  also  refer, 
directly  or  indirectly,  to  the  character  of  the  van 
ished  personality.  Thus  a  man  of  widely-recog 
nized  integrity  and  strong  moral  purpose,  may  — 
like  my  dead  friend  —  be  not  unfitly  named : 
"  Bright-Sun-on-the-Way-of-the-Wise."  The 
child- daughter  or  the  young  wife,  especially  re 
membered  for  sweetness  of  character,  may  be  com 
memorated  by  some  such  posthumous  name  as 
"  Plumflower-Light,"  or  "  Luminous- Shadow-of- 
the-Plumflower-Chamber ;  " — the  word  "plum- 
flower  "  in  either  case  at  once  suggesting  the 
quality  of  the  virtue  of  the  dead,  because  this 
blossom  in  Japan  is  the  emblem  of  feminine 
moral  charm,  —  more  particularly  faithfulness  to 
duty  and  faultless  modesty.  Again,  the  memory 
of  any  person  noted  for  deeds  of  charity  may 
be  honoured  by  such  a  kaimyS  as,  "  Effective- 
Benevolence  Listening  -  with  -  Pure-  Heart-to-the- 


148     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Supplications  -  of  -  the  -  Poor."  Finally  I  may 
observe  that  the  kaimyd-terms  expressing  alti 
tude,  luminosity,  and  fragrance,  have  most  often 
a  moral-exemplary  signification.  But  in  all 
countries  epitaphic  literature  has  its  conventional 
hypocrisies  or  extravagances.  Buddhist  kaimyo 
frequently  contain  a  great  deal  of  religious 
flattery;  and  beautiful  posthumous  names  are 
often  given  to  those  whose  lives  were  the  reverse 
of  beautiful. 

When  we  find  among  feminine  kaimyo  such 
appellations  as  "  Wondrous-Lotos,"  or  "  Beautiful- 
as-the-Lotos-of-the-Dawn,"  we  may  be  sure  in 
the  generality  of  cases  that  the  charm,  to  which 
reference  is  so  made,  was  ethical  only.  Yet  there 
are  exceptions ;  and  the  more  remarkable  of  these 
are  furnished  by  the  kaimyo  of  children.  Names 
like  "  Dream-of-Spring,"  "  Radiant-Phantasm," 
"Snowy-Bubble,"  do  actually  refer  to  the  lost 
form,  —  or  at  least  to  the  supposed  parental  idea 
of  vanished  beauty  and  grace.  But  such  names 
also  exemplify  a  peculiar  consolatory  application 
of  the  Buddhist  doctrine  of  Impermanency.  We 
might  say  that  through  the  medium  of  these 
kaimyo  the  bereaved  are  thus  soothed  in  the 
loftiest  language  of  faith :  —  "  Beautiful  and  brief 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead    149 

was  the  being  of  your  child,  —  a  dream  of  spring, 
a  radiant  passing  vision,  —  a  snowy  bubble.  But 
in  the  order  of  eternal  law  all  forms  must  pass  ; 
material  permanency  there  is  none :  only  the 
divine  Absolute  dwelling  in  every  being,  —  only 
the  Buddha  in  the  heart  of  each  of  us,  —  forever 
endures.  Be  this  great  truth  at  once  your  com 
fort  and  your  hope  !  " 

Extraordinary  examples  of  the  retrospective 
significance  sometimes  given  to  posthumous 
names,  are  furnished  by  the  kaimyo  of  the 
Forty -Seven  Ronin  buried  at  Sengakuji  in 
Tokyo.  (Their  story  is  now  well-known  to  all 
the  English-reading  world  through  Mitford's 
eloquent  and  sympathetic  version  of  it  in  the 
"Tales  of  Old  Japan.")  The  noteworthy  pe 
culiarity  of  these  kaimyo  is  that  each  contains 
the  two  words,  "  dagger  "  and  "  sword,"  —  used 
in  a  symbolic  sense,  but  having  also  an  appro 
priate  military  suggestiveness.  Oishi  Kuranosuke 
Yoshiwo,  the  leader,  is  alone  styled  Koji ;  —  the 
kaimyo  of  his  followers  have  the  humbler  suffix 
Shinshi.  Oishi's  kaimyo  reads :  —  "  Dagger-of- 
Emptiness-and-stainless-Sword,  in  the  Mansion 
of  Earnest  Loyalty"  I  need  scarcely  call  atten- 


Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

tion  to  the  historic  meaning  of  the  mansion- name. 
Three  of  the  kaimyo  of  his  followers  will  serve 
as  examples  of  the  rest.  That  of  Mase  Kyudayu 
Masaake  is :  —  "  Dagger-of-Fame-and-Sword-of- 
tbe-Way  [or  Doctrine.}  "  The  kaimyo  of  Oishi 
Sezayemon  Nobukiyo  is  :  —  "  Dagger- of -Mag 
nanimity  -  and-  Sword-  of-  Virtue"  And  the 
kaimyo  of  Horibei  Yasubei  is:  — "  Dagger -of - 
Cloud-and  Sword-of- Brightness." 

The  first  and  the  last  of  these  four  kaimyo  will 
be  found  obscure  ;  and  several  more  of  the  forty  - 
seven  inscriptions  are  equally  enigmatic  at  first 
sight.  Usually  in  a  kaimyo  the  word  "  Empti 
ness,"  or  "  Void,"  signifies  the  Buddhist  state  of 
absolute  spiritual  purity,  —  the  state  of  Uncondi 
tioned  Being.  But  in  the  kaimyo  of  Oishi 
Kuranosuke  the  meaning  of  it,  though  purely 
Buddhist,  is  very  different.  By  "emptiness" 
here,  we  must  understand  "  illusion,"  "  unreal 
ity,"  —  and  the  full  meaning  of  the  phrase  "  dag 
ger-emptiness  "  is :  —  "  Wisdom  that,  seeing  the 
emptiness  of  material  forms,  pierces  through 
illusion  as  a  dagger."  In  Horibei  Yasubei's  kai 
myo  we  must  similarly  render  the  word  "  cloud  " 
by  illusion  ;  and  "  Dagger-of-  Cloud  "  should  be 
interpreted, "  Illusion-penetrating  Dagger  ofWis- 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead 

dom"  The  wisdom  that  perceives  the  emptiness 
of  phenomena,  is  the  sharply-dividing,  or  dis 
tinguishing  wisdom,  —  is  Myd-kwan-^atsu-cbi 
(Pratyavekshana-gnSna). 


Possibly  I  have  presumed  too  much  upon  the 
patience  of  my  readers ;  yet  I  feel  that  these  stud 
ies  can  yield  scarcely  more  than  the  glimpse  of  a 
subject  wide  and  deep  as  a  sea.  If  they  should 
arouse  any  Western  interest  in  the  philosophy  and 
the  poetry  of  Buddhist  epitaphic  literature,  then 
they  will  certainly  have  accomplished  all  that  I 
could  reasonably  hope. 

Not  improbably  I  shall  be  accused,  as  I  have 
been  on  other  occasions,  of  trying  to  make  Bud 
dhist  texts  "  more  beautiful  than  they  are."  This 
charge  usually  comes  from  persons  totally  igno 
rant  of  the  originals,  and  betrays  a  spirit  of 
disingenuousness  with  which  I  have  no  sympathy. 
Whoever  confesses  religion  to  have  been  a  devel 
oping  influence  in  the  social  and  moral  history  of 
races,  —  whoever  grants  that  respect  is  due  to 


Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

convictions  which  have  shaped  the  nobler  courses 
of  human  conduct  for  thousands  of  years, — 
whoever  acknowledges  that  in  any  great  religion 
something  of  eternal  truth  must  exist,  —  will  hold 
it  the  highest  duty  of  a  translator  to  interpret  the 
concepts  of  an  alien  faith  as  generously  as  he 
would  wish  his  own  thoughts  or  words  interpreted 
by  his  fellow-men.  In  the  rendering  of  Chinese 
sentences  this  duty  presents  itself  under  a  peculiar 
aspect.  Any  attempt  at  literal  translation  would 
result  in  the  production  either  of  nonsense,  or  of  a 
succession  of  ideas  totally  foreign  to  far- Eastern 
thought.  The  paramount  necessity  in  treating 
such  texts  is  to  discover  and  to  expound  the 
thought  conveyed  to  Oriental  minds  by  the 
original  ideographs,  —  which  are  very  different 
things  indeed  from  "  written  words."  The  trans 
lations  given  in  this  essay  were  made  by  Japanese 
scholars,  and,  in  their  present  form,  have  the 
approval  of  competent  critics. 

As  I  write  these  lines  a  full  moon  looks  into 
my  study  over  the  trees  of  the  temple-garden, 
and  brings  me  the  recollection  of  a  little  Buddhist 
poem:  — 


The  Literature  of  the  Dead 

"  From  the  foot  oj  tbe  mountain,  many  are 
the  paths  ascending  in  shadow ;  but  from  the 
cloudless  summit  all  who  climb  behold  the  self 
same  Moon" 

The  reader  who  knows  the  truth  shrined  in  this 
little  verse  will  not  regret  an  hour  passed  with  me 
among  the  tombs  of  Kobudera. 


Frogs 


Frogs 


"With  hands  resting  upon  the  floor,  reverentially  you 

repeat  your  poem,  0  frog  I  " 

Ancient  Poem. 

I 

FEW  of  the  simpler  sense- impressions  of 
travel  remain  more  intimately  and  vividly 
associated  with  the  memory  of  a  strange 
land  than  sounds,  —  sounds  of  the  open  country. 
Only  the  traveller  knows  how  Nature's  voices  — 
voices  of  forest  and  river  and  plain  —  vary  ac 
cording  to  zone ;  and  it  is  nearly  always  some 
local  peculiarity  of  their  tone  or  character  that 
appeals  to  feeling  and  penetrates  into  memory,  — 
giving  us  the  sensation  of  the  foreign  and  the 
far-away.  In  Japan  this  sensation  is  especially 
aroused  by  the  music  of  insects,  —  hemiptera 
uttering  a  sound -language  wonderfully  different 
from  that  of  their  Western  congeners.  To  a 
lesser  degree  the  exotic  accent  is  noticeable  also 
in  the  chanting  of  Japanese  frogs,  —  though  the 
sound  impresses  itself  upon  remembrance  rather 


Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

by  reason  of  its  ubiquity.  Rice  being  cultivated 
all  over  the  country,  —  not  only  upon  mountain- 
slopes  and  hill -tops,  but  even  within  the  limits  of 
the  cities,  —  there  aft  flushed  levels  everywhere, 
and  everywhere  frogs.  No  one  who  has  travelled 
in  Japan  will  forget  the  clamor  of  the  ricefields. 

Hushed  only  during  the  later  autumn  and  brief 
winter,  with  the  first  wakening  of  spring  waken 
all  the  voices  of  the  marsh-lands,  —  the  infinite 
bubbling  chorus  that  might  be  taken  for  the 
speech  of  the  quickening  soil  itself.  And  the 
universal  mystery  of  life  seems  to  thrill  with  a 
peculiar  melancholy  in  that  vast  utterance  — 
heard  through  forgotten  thousands  of  years 
by  forgotten  generations  of  toilers,  but  doubtless 
older  by  myriad  ages  than  the  race  of  man. 

Now  this  song  of  solitude  has  been  for  cen 
turies  a  favorite  theme  with  Japanese  poets ;  but 
the  Western  reader  may  be  surprised  to  learn  that 
it  has  appealed  to  them  rather  as  a  pleasant  sound 
than  as  a  nature-manifestation. 

Innumerable  poems  have  been  written  about 
the  singing  of  frogs  ;  but  a  large  proportion  of 
them  would  prove  unintelligible  if  understood  as 
referring  to  common  frogs.  When  the  general 


Frogs 

chorus  of  the  ricefield  finds  praise  in  Japanese 
verse,  the  poet  expresses  his  pleasure  only  in  the 
great  volume  of  sound  produced  by  the  blending 
of  millions  of  little  croakings,  —  a  blending  which 
really  has  a  pleasant  effect,  well  compared  to  the 
lulling  sound  of  the  falling  of  rain.  But  when 
the  poet  pronounces  an  individual  frog-call  melo. 
dious,  he  is  not  speaking  of  the  common  frog  of 
the  ricefields.  Although  most  kinds  of  Japanese 
frogs  are  croakers,  there  is  one  remarkable  excep 
tion —  (not  to  mention  tree-frogs),  — the  kajika, 
or  true  singing-frog  of  Japan.  To  say  that  it 
croaks  would  be  an  injustice  to  its  note,  which  is 
sweet  as  the  chirrup  of  a  song-bird.  It  used  to  be 
called  kawa^u ;  but  as  this  ancient  appellation 
latterly  became  confounded  in  common  parlance 
with  kaeru,  the  general  name  for  ordinary  frogs, 
it  is  now  called  only  kajika.  The  kajika  is  kept 
as  a  domestic  pet,  and  is  sold  in  Tokyo  by  several 
insect-merchants.  It  is  housed  in  a  peculiar  cage, 
the  lower  part  of  which  is  a  basin  containing  sand 
and  pebbles,  fresh  water  and  small  plants;  the 
upper  part  being  a  framework  of  fine  wire-gauze. 
Sometimes  the  basin  is  fitted  up  as  a  ko-niwa, 
or  model  landscape-garden.  In  these  times  the 
kajika  is  considered  as  one  of  the  singers  of  spring 


160     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

and  summer;  but  formerly  it  was  classed  with 
the  melodists  of  autumn ;  and  people  used  to 
make  autumn-trips  to  the  country  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  hearing  it  sing.  And  just  as  various 
places  used  to  be  famous  for  the  music  of  par 
ticular  varieties  of  night-crickets,  so  there  were 
places  celebrated  only  as  haunts  of  the  kajika. 
The  following  were  especially  noted :  — 

Tamagawa  and  Osawa-no-Ike, —  a  river  and  a 
lake  in  the  province  of  Yamashiro. 

Miwagawa,  Asukagawa,  Sawogawa,  Furu-no- 
Yamada,  and  Yoshinogawa,  —  all  in  the  province 
of  Yamato. 

Koya-no-Ike,  —  in  Settsu. 

Ukinu-no-Ike, — in  Iwami. 

Ikawa-no-Numa,  —  in  Kozuke. 

Now  it  is  the  melodious  cry  of  the  kajika,  or 
kawazu,  which  is  so  often  praised  in  far-Eastern 
verse  ;  and,  like  the  music  of  insects,  it  is  men 
tioned  in  the  oldest  extant  collections  of  Japanese 
poems.  In  the  preface  to  the  famous  anthology 
called  Kokinshu,  compiled  by  Imperial  Decree 
during  the  fifth  year  of  the  period  of  Engi 
(A.  D.  905),  the  poet  Ki-no-Tsurayuki,  chief 
editor  of  the  work,  makes  these  interesting  obser 
vations  :  — 


Frogs  161 

—  "  The  poetry  of  Japan  has  its  roots  in  the 
human  heart,  and  thence  has  grown  into  a  multi 
form  utterance.  Man  in  this  world,  having  a 
thousand  millions  of  things  to  undertake  and  to 
complete,  has  been  moved  to  express  his  thoughts 
and  his  feelings  concerning  all  that  he  sees  and 
hears.  When  we  hear  the  uguisu1  singing 
among  flowers,  and  the  voice  of  the  kawazu 
which  inhabits  the  waters,  what  mortal  [lit. : 
'  who  among  the  living  that  lives ']  does  not 
compose  poems  ? " 

The  kawazu  thus  referred  to  by  Tsurayuki  is 
of  course  the  same  creature  as  the  modem 
kajika :  no  common  frog  could  have  been  men 
tioned  as  a  songster  in  the  same  breath  with  that 
wonderful  bird,  the  uguisu.  And  no  common 
frog  could  have  inspired  any  classical  poet  with 
so  pretty  a  fancy  as  this :  — 

Te*  wo  tsuit^ 

Uta  moshi-aguru, 

Kawazu  kana ! 

"  With  hands  resting  on  the  ground,  reverentially 
you  repeat  your  poem,  O  frog !  "  The  charm  of 
this  little  verse  can  best  be  understood  by  those 
familiar  with  the  far- Eastern  etiquette  of  posture 

1  Cettia  cantans, — the  Japanese  nightingale. 
ii 


162     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

while  addressing  a  superior,  —  kneeling,  with  the 
body  respectfully  inclined,  and  hands  resting  upon 
the  floor,  with  the  fingers  pointing  outwards.1 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  determine  the  an 
tiquity  of  the  custom  of  writing  poems  about 
frogs ;  but  in  the  Manyosbu,  dating  back  to  the 
middle  of  the  eighth  century,  there  is  a  poem 
which  suggests  that  even  at  that  time  the  river 
Asuka  had  long  been  famous  for  the  singing  of 

its  frogs :  — 

Ima  mo  ka  mo 
Asuka  no  kawa  no 

Yu  sarazu 
Kawazu  naku  s£  no 
Kiyoku  aruran. 

"  Still  clear  in  our  day  remains  the  stream  of 
Asuka,  where  the  kawazu  nightly  sing."  We 
find  also  in  the  same  anthology  the  following 
curious  reference  to  the  singing  of  frogs:  — 

Omoboyezu 
Kimaseru  kimi  wo, 

Sasagawa  no 
Kawazu  kikasezu 
Kayeshi  tsuru  kamo  1 

1  Such,  at  least,  is  the  posture  prescribed  by  the  old  eti 
quette  for  men.  But  the  rules  were  very  complicated,  and 
varied  somewhat  according  to  rank  as  well  as  to  sex. 
Women  usually  turn  the  fingers  inward  instead  of  outward 
when  assuming  this  posture. 


Frogs  163 

"  Unexpectedly  I  received  the  august  visit  of  my 
lord.  .  .  .  Alas,  that  he  should  have  returned 
without  hearing  the  frogs  of  the  river  Sawa ! " 
And  in  the  Rokujoshu,  another  ancient  compi 
lation,  are  preserved  these  pleasing  verses  on  the 
same  theme :  — 

Tamagawa  no 
Hito  wo  mo  yogizu 

Naku  kawazu, 
Kono  yu  kik£ba 
Oshiku  ya  wa  aranu  ? 

"  Hearing  to-night  the  frogs  of  the  Jewel  River 
[or  Tamagawa],  that  sing  without  fear  of  man1 
how  can  I  help  loving  the  passing  moment  ? " 


II 


Thus  it  appears  that  for  more  than  eleven 
hundred  years  the  Japanese  have  been  making 
poems  about  frogs ;  and  it  is  at  least  possible  that 
verses  on  this  subject,  which  have  been  preserved 
in  the  Manyoshu,  were  composed  even  earlier  than 
the  eighth  century.  From  the  oldest  classical 
period  to  the  present  day,  the  theme  has  never 
ceased  to  be  a  favorite  one  with  poets  of  all 


164     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

ranks.  A  fact  noteworthy  in  this  relation  is  that 
the  first  poem  written  in  the  measure  called 
bokku,  by  the  famous  Basho,  was  about  frogs. 
The  triumph  of  this  extremely  brief  form  of 
verse—  (three  lines  of  5,  7,  and  5  syllables  re 
spectively)  —  is  to  create  one  complete  sensation- 
picture;  and  Basho's  original  accomplishes  the 
feat,  —  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  repeat  in 
English :  — 

Furu  ike  ya, 
Kawazu  tobikomu, 

Midzu  no  oto. 

("Old  pond  —  frogs  jumping  in  —  sound  of 
water.")  An  immense  number  of  poems  about 
frogs  were  subsequently  written  in  this  measure. 
Even  at  the  present  time  professional  men  of 
letters  amuse  themselves  by  making  short  poems 
on  frogs.  Distinguished  among  these  is  a  young 
poet  known  to  the  Japanese  literary  world  by  the 
pseudonym  of  "  Roseki,"  who  lives  in  Osaka  and 
keeps  in  the  pond  of  his  garden  hundreds  of  sing 
ing  frogs.  At  fixed  intervals  he  invites  all  his 
poet-friends  to  a  feast,  with  the  proviso  that  each 
must  compose,  during  the  entertainment,  one  poem 
about  the  inhabitants  of  the  pond.  A  collection 
of  the  verses  thus  obtained  was  privately  printed 


Frogs 

in  the  spring  of  1897,  with  funny  pictures  of 
frogs  decorating  the  covers  and  illustrating  the 
text. 

But  unfortunately  it  is  not  possible  through 
English  translation  to  give  any  fair  idea  of  the 
range  and  character  of  the  literature  of  frogs. 
The  reason  is  that  the  greater  number  of  com 
positions  about  frogs  depend  chiefly  for  their  lit 
erary  value  upon  the  untranslatable,  —  upon  local 
allusions,  for  example,  incomprehensible  outside 
of  Japan ;  upon  puns ;  and  upon  the  use  of  words 
with  double  or  even  triple  meanings.  Scarcely 
two  or  three  in  every  one  hundred  poems  can 
bear  translation.  So  I  can  attempt  little  more 
than  a  few  general  observations. 

That  love-poems  should  form  a  considerable 
proportion  of  this  curious  literature  will  not  seem 
strange  to  the  reader  when  he  is  reminded  that 
the  lovers'  trysting-hour  is  also  the  hour  when 
the  frog-chorus  is  in  full  cry,  and  that,  in  Japan 
at  least,  the  memory  of  the  sound  would  be 
associated  with  the  memory  of  a  secret  meeting 
in  almost  any  solitary  place.  The  frog  referred 
to  in  such  poems  is  not  usually  the  kajika.  But 
frogs  are  introduced  into  love-poetry  in  countless 


166     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

clever  ways.  I  can  give  two  examples  of  modern 
popular  compositions  of  this  kind.  The  first  con 
tains  an  allusion  to  the  famous  proverb,  —  I  no 
naha  no  kawa^u  daihai  wo  shira^u :  "  The  frog 
in  the  well  knows  not  the  great  sea."  A  person 
quite  innocent  of  the  ways  of  the  world  is  com 
pared  to  a  frog  in  a  well ;  and  we  may  suppose 
the  speaker  of  the  following  lines  to  be  some 
sweet-hearted  country-girl,  answering  an  ungen 
erous  remark  with  very  pretty  tact:  — 

Laugh  me  to  scorn  if  you  please ;  —  call  me  your 

"frog-in-the-well" : 
Flowers  fall  into  my  well ;  and  its  water  mirrors 

the  moon  / 

The  second  poem  is  supposed  to  be  the  utterance 
of  a  woman  having  good  reason  to  be  jealous :  — 

Dull  as  a  stagnant  pond  you  deemed  the  mind  of 

your  mistress ; 
But  the  stagnant  pond  can  speak :  you  shall  hear 

the  cry  of  the  frog ! 

Outside  of  love-poems  there  are  hundreds  of 
verses  about  the  common  frogs  of  ponds  or  rice- 
fields.  Some  refer  chiefly  to  the  volume  of  the 
sound  that  the  frogs  make:  — 


Frogs  167 

Hearing  the  frogs  of  the  ricefields,  methinks 
that  the  water  sings. 

As  we  flush  the  ricefields  of  spring,  the  frog- 
song  flows  with  the  water. 

From  ricefleld  to  ricefleld  they  call :  unceas 
ing  the  challenge  and  answer. 

Ever  as  deepens  the  night,  louder  the  chorus  of 
pond-frogs. 

So  many  the  voices  of  frogs  that  I  cannot  but 
wonder  if  the  pond  be  not  wider  at  night  than  by 
day  ! 

Even  the  rowing  boats  can  scarce  proceed,  so 
thick  the  clamor  of  the  frogs  of  Horiel 

The  exaggeration  of  the  last  verse  is  of  course 
intentional,  and  in  the  original  not  uneffective. 
In  some  parts  of  the  world  —  in  the  marshes  of 
Florida  and  of  southern  Louisiana,  for  example, 
—  the  clamor  of  the  frogs  at  certain  seasons 
resembles  the  roaring  of  a  furious  sea;  and 
whoever  has  heard  it  can  appreciate  the  fancy 
of  sound  as  obstacle. 


168     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Other  poems  compare  or  associate  the  sound 
made  by  frogs  with  the  sound  of  rain:  — 

The  song  of  the  earliest  frogs,  — fainter  than 
falling  of  rain. 

What  I  took  for  the  falling  of  rain  is  only  tbe 
singing  of  frogs. 

Now  I  shall  dream,  lulled  by  tbe  patter  of  rain 
and  the  song  of  the  frogs. 

Other  poems,  again,  are  Intended  only  as  tiny 
pictures,  —  thumb-nail  sketches,  —  such  as  this 
hokku,  — 

Path  between  ricefields  ;  frogs  jumping  away 
to  right  and  left ;  — 

— or  this,  which  is  a  thousand  years  old  :  — 

Where  the  flowers  of  the  yamabuhi  are  imaged 
in  the  still  marsh-water,  the  voice  of  the  ha- 
wa%u  is  heard ;  — 

—  or  the  following  pretty  fancy :  — 

Now  sings  the  frog,  and  the  voice  of  the  frog 
is  perfumed ;  — for  into  the  shining  stream  the 
cherry-petals  fall. 


Frogs  169 

The  last  two  pieces  refer,  of  course,  to  the  true 
singing  frog. 

Many  short  poems  are  addressed  directly  to  the 
frog  itself,  — whether  kaeru  or  kajika.  There  are 
poems  of  melancholy,  of  affection,  of  humor,  of 
religion,  and  even  of  philosophy  among  these. 
Sometimes  the  frog  is  likened  to  a  spirit  resting 
on  a  lotos- leaf ;  sometimes,  to  a  priest  repeating 
sutras  for  the  sake  of  the  dying  flowers  ;  some 
times  to  a  pining  lover;  sometimes  to  a  host 
receiving  travellers  ;  sometimes  to  a  blasphemer, 
"  always  beginning  "  to  say  something  against 
the  gods,  but  always  afraid  to  finish  it.  Most  of 
the  following  examples  are  taken  from  the  re 
cent  book  of  frog-poems  published  by  Roseki ;  — 
each  paragraph  of  my  prose  rendering,  it  should 
be  remembered,  represents  a  distinct  poem  :  — 

Now  all  the  guests  being  gone,  why  still  thus 
respectfully  sitting,  Ofrog  ? 

So  resting  your  bands  on  the  ground,  do  you 
welcome  the  Rain,  O  frog  ? 

You  disturb  in  the  ancient  well  the  light  of 
the  stars,  O  frog! 


170     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Sleepy  the  sound  of  the  rain  ;  but  your  voice 
makes  me  dream,  Ofrog  I 

Always  beginning  to  say  something  against 
the  great  Heaven,  Ofrog  ! 

You  have  learned  that  the  world  is  void :  you 
never  look  at  it  as  you  float,  Ofrog/ 

Having  lived  in  clear-rushing  mountain- 
streams,  never  can  your  voice  become  stagnant, 
Ofrog! 

The  last  pleasing  conceit  shows  the  esteem  in 
which  the  superior  vocal  powers  of  the  kajika  are 
held. 


Ill 

I  thought  it  strange  that  out  of  hundreds  of 
frog-poems  collected  for  me  I  could  not  discover 
a  single  mention  of  the  coldness  and  clamminess 
of  the  frog.  Except  a  few  jesting  lines  about  the 
queer  attitudes  sometimes  assumed  by  the  crea 
ture,  the  only  reference  to  its  uninviting  qualities 
that  I  could  find  was  the  mild  remark, 

Seen  in  the  daytime,  bow  uninteresting  you 
are,  O  frog  / 


Frogs  171 

While  wondering  at  this  reticence  concerning  the 
chilly,  slimy,  flaccid  nature  of  frogs,  it  all  at  once 
occurred  to  me  that  in  other  thousands  of  Japan 
ese  poems  which  I  had  read  there  was  a  total 
absence  of  allusions  to  tactual  sensations.  Sensa 
tions  of  colors,  sounds,  and  odors  were  rendered 
with  exquisite  and  surprising  delicacy;  but  sen 
sations  of  taste  were  seldom  mentioned,  and 
sensations  of  touch  were  absolutely  ignored.  I 
asked  myself  whether  the  reason  for  this  reticence 
or  indifference  should  be  sought  in  the  particular 
temperament  or  mental  habit  of  the  race ;  but  I 
have  not  yet  been  able  to  decide  the  question. 
Remembering  that  the  race  has  been  living  for 
ages  upon  food  which  seems  tasteless  to  the 
Western  palate,  and  that  impulses  to  such  action 
as  hand -clasping,  embracing,  kissing,  or  other 
physical  display  of  affectionate  feeling,  are  really 
foreign  to  far-Eastern  character,  one  is  tempted  to 
the  theory  that  gustatory  and  tactual  sensations, 
pleasurable  and  otherwise,  have  been  less  highly 
evolved  with  the  Japanese  than  with  us.  But 
there  is  much  evidence  against  such  a  theory ;  and 
the  triumphs  of  Japanese  handicraft  assure  us  of 
an  almost  incomparable  delicacy  of  touch  devel 
oped  in  special  directions.  Whatever  be  the 


172     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

physiological  meaning  of  the  phenomenon,  its 
moral  meaning  is  of  most  importance.  So  far  as 
I  have  been  able  to  judge,  Japanese  poetry  usually 
ignores  the  inferior  qualities  of  sensation,  while 
making  the  subtlest  of  appeals  to  those  superior 
qualities  which  we  call  aesthetic.  Even  if  repre 
senting  nothing  else,  this  fact  represents  the 
healthiest  and  happiest  attitude  toward  Nature. 
Do  not  we  Occidentals  shrink  from  many  purely 
natural  impressions  by  reason  of  repulsion  devel 
oped  through  a  morbid  tactual  sensibility  ?  The 
question  is  at  least  worth  considering.  Ignoring 
or  mastering  such  repulsion,  —  accepting  naked 
Nature  as  she  is,  always  lovable  when  understood, 

—  the  Japanese  discover  beauty  where  we  blindly 
imagine  ugliness  or  formlessness  or  loathsomeness, 

—  beauty  in  insects,  beauty  in  stones,  beauty  in 
frogs.    Is  the  fact  without  significance  that  they 
alone  have  been  able  to  make  artistic  use  of  the 
form  of  the  centipede  ?  .  .  .  You  should  see  my 
Kyoto   tobacco-pouch,  with  centipedes  of  gold 
running  over  its  figured  leather  like  ripplings  of 
fire! 


Of  Moon-Desire 


Of  Moon-Desire 


I 


HE  was  two  years  old  when  —  as  ordained  in 
the  law  of  perpetual  recurrence  —  he 
asked  me  for  the  Moon. 

Unwisely  I  protested,  — 

"  The  Moon  1  cannot  give  you  because  it  is  too 
high  up.  I  cannot  reach  it." 

He  answered :  — 

"  By  taking  a  very  long  bamboo,  you  probably 
could  reach  it,  and  knock  it  down." 

I  said,  — 

"  There  is  no  bamboo  long  enough." 

He  suggested :  — 

"  By  standing  on  the  ridge  of  the  roof  of  the 
house,  you  probably  could  poke  it  with  the 
bamboo." 

—  Whereat  I  found  myself  constrained  to  make 
some  approximately  truthful  statements  concern 
ing  the  nature  and  position  of  the  Moon. 


176     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

This  set  me  thinking.  I  thought  about  the 
strange  fascination  that  brightness  exerts  upon 
living  creatures  in  general,  —  upon  insects  and 
fishes  and  birds  and  mammals, — and  tried  to 
account  for  it  by  some  inherited  memory  of 
brightness  as  related  to  food,  to  water,  and  to 
freedom.  I  thought  of  the  countless  generations 
of  children  who  have  asked  for  the  Moon,  and  of 
the  generations  of  parents  who  have  laughed  at 
the  asking.  And  then  I  entered  into  the  follow 
ing  meditation :  — 

Have  we  any  right  to  laugh  at  the  child's  wish 
for  the  Moon  ?  No  wish  could  be  more  natural ; 
and  as  for  its  incongruity,  —do  not  we,  children 
of  a  larger  growth,  mostly  nourish  wishes  quite  as 
innocent,  —  longings  that  if  realized  could  only 
work  us  woe,  —  such  as  desire  for  the  continu 
ance  after  death  of  that  very  sense-life,  or  indi 
viduality,  which  once  deluded  us  all  into  wanting 
to  play  with  the  Moon,  and  often  subsequently 
deluded  us  in  far  less  pleasant  ways  ? 

Now  foolish  as  may  seem,  to  merely  empirical 
reasoning,  the  wish  of  the  child  for  the  Moon,  I 
have  an  idea  that  the  highest  wisdom  commands 
us  to  wish  for  very  much  more  than  the  Moon, 


Of  Moon-Desire  177 

—  even  for  more  than  the  Sun  and  the  Morning- 
Star  and  all  the  Host  of  Heaven. 


II 


I  remember  when  a  boy  lying  on  my  back  in 
the  grass,  gazing  into  the  summer  blue  above  me, 
and  wishing  that  1  could  melt  into  it,  —  become 
a  part  of  it.  For  these  fancies  I  believe  that  a 
religious  tutor  was  innocently  responsible  :  he  had 
tried  to  explain  to  me,  because  of  certain  dreamy 
questions,  what  he  termed  "the  folly  and  the 
wickedness  of  pantheism,"  —  with  the  result  that 
I  immediately  became  a  pantheist,  at  the  tender 
age  of  fifteen.  And  my  imaginings  presently  led 
me  not  only  to  want  the  sky  for  a  playground, 
but  also  to  become  the  sky ! 

Now  I  think  that  in  those  days  I  was  really 
close  to  a  great  truth,  —  touching  it,  in  fact,  with 
out  the  faintest  suspicion  of  its  existence.  I  mean 
the  truth  that  the  wish  to  become  is  reasonable  in 
direct  ratio  to  its  largeness,  —  or,  in  other  words, 
that  the  more  you  wish  to  be,  the  wiser  you  are  ; 
while  the  wish  to  have  is  apt  to  be  foolish  in 
proportion  to  its  largeness.  Cosmic  law  permits 


178     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

us  very  few  of  the  countless  things  that  we  wish 
to  have,  but  will  help  us  to  become  all  that  we 
can  possibly  wish  to  be.  Finite,  and  in  so  much 
feeble,  is  the  wish  to  have :  but  infinite  in  puis 
sance  is  the  wish  to  become ;  and  every  mortal 
wish  to  become  must  eventually  find  satisfaction. 
By  wanting  to  be,  the  monad  makes  itself  the 
elephant,  the  eagle,  or  the  man.  By  wanting  to 
be,  the  man  should  become  a  god.  Perhaps  on 
this  tiny  globe,  lighted  only  by  a  tenth-rate  yel 
low  sun,  he  will  not  have  time  to  become  a  god  ; 
but  who  dare  assert  that  his  wish  cannot  project 
itself  to  mightier  systems  illuminated  by  vaster 
suns,  and  there  reshape  and  invest  him  with  the 
forms  and  powers  of  divinity  ?  Who  dare  even 
say  that  his  wish  may  not  expand  him  beyond 
the  Limits  of  Form,  and  make  him  one  with 
Omnipotence  ?  And  Omnipotence,  without  ask 
ing,  can  have  much  brighter  and  bigger  play 
things  than  the  Moon. 

Probably  everything  is  a  mere  question  of  wish 
ing,  —  providing  that  we  wish,  not  to  have,  but  to 
be.  Most  of  the  sorrow  of  life  certainly  exists 
because  of  the  wrong  kind  of  wishing  and  because 
of  the  contemptible  pettiness  of  the  wishes.  Even 
to  wish  for  the  absolute  lordship  and  possession 


Of  Moon-Desire  179 

of  the  entire  earth  were  a  pitifully  small  and 
vulgar  wish.  We  must  learn  to  nourish  very 
much  bigger  wishes  than  that !  My  faith  is  that 
we  must  wish  to  become  the  total  universe  with 
its  thousands  of  millions  of  worlds,  —  and  more 
than  the  universe,  or  a  myriad  universes,  —  and 
more  even  than  Space  and  Time. 


Ill 


Possibly  the  power  for  such  wishing  must 
depend  upon  our  comprehension  of  the  ghostli- 
ness  of  substance.  Once  men  endowed  with 
spirit  all  forms  and  motions  and  utterances  of 
Nature:  stone  and  metal,  herb  and  tree,  cloud 
and  wind,  —  the  lights  of  heaven,  the  murmur 
ing  of  leaves  and  waters,  the  echoes  of  the  hills, 
the  tumultuous  speech  of  the  sea.  Then  becom 
ing  wiser  in  their  own  conceit,  they  likewise  be 
came  of  little  faith ;  and  they  talked  about  "  the 
Inanimate"  and  "the  Inert,"  —  which  are  non 
existent,  —  and  discoursed  of  Force  as  distinct 
from  Matter,  and  of  Mind  as  distinct  from  both. 
Yet  we  now  discover  that  the  primitive  fancies 
were,  after  all,  closer  to  probable  truth.  We  can- 


180     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

not  indeed  think  of  Nature  to-day  precisely  as  did 
our  forefathers ;  but  we  find  ourselves  obliged  to 
think  of  her  in  very  much  weirder  ways;  and 
the  later  revelations  of  our  science  have  revitalized 
not  a  little  of  the  primitive  thought,  and  infused 
it  with  a  new  and  awful  beauty.  And  meantime 
those  old  savage  sympathies  with  savage  Nature 
that  spring  from  the  deepest  sources  of  our  being, 
— always  growing  with  our  growth,  strengthen 
ing  with  our  strength,  more  and  more  unfolding 
with  the  evolution  of  our  higher  sensibilities, — 
would  seem  destined  to  sublime  at  last  into  forms 
of  cosmical  emotion  expanding  and  responding 
to  infinitude. 

Have  you  never  thought  about  those  imme 
morial  feelings?  .  .  .  Have  you  never,  when 
looking  at  some  great  burning,  found  yourself 
exulting  without  remorse  in  the  triumph  and  glory 
of  fire  ?  —  never  unconsciously  coveted  the  crumb 
ling,  splitting,  iron -wrenching,  granite -cracking 
force  of  its  imponderable  touch  ?  —  never  de 
lighted  in  the  furious  and  terrible  splendor  of  its 
phantasmagories,  —  the  ravening  and  bickering 
of  its  dragons,  —  the  monstrosity  of  its  archings, 
—  the  ghostly  soaring  and  flapping  of  its  spires  ? 


Of  Moon-Desire  181 

Have  you  never,  with  a  hill-wind  pealing  in  your 
ears,  longed  to  ride  that  wind  like  a  ghost,  —  to 
scream  round  the  peaks  with  it,  —  to  sweep  the 
face  of  the  world  with  it?  Or,  watching  the 
lifting,  the  gathering,  the  muttering  rush  and 
thunder-burst  of  breakers,  have  you  felt  no  im 
pulse  kindred  to  that  giant  motion,  —  no  longing 
to  leap  with  that  wild  white  tossing,  and  to  join 
in  that  mighty  shout  ?  .  .  .  And  all  such  an 
cient  emotional  sympathies  with  Nature's  familiar 
forces  —  do  they  not  prelude,  with  their  modern 
aesthetic  developments,  the  future  growth  of  rarer 
sympathies  with  incomparably  subtler  forces,  and 
of  longings  to  be  limited  only  by  our  power  to 
know?  Know  ether  —  shivering  from  star  to 
star ;  —  comprehend  its  sensitivities,  its  penetran- 
cies,  its  transmutations  ;  —  and  sympathies  ethe 
real  will  evolve.  Know  the  forces  that  spin  the 
suns ;  —  and  already  the  way  has  been  reached  of 
becoming  one  with  them. 

And  furthermore,  is  there  no  suggestion  of  such 
evolvement  in  the  steady  widening  through  all  the 
centuries  of  the  thoughts  of  their  world-priests 
and  poets?  —  in  the  later  sense  of  Life-as-Unity 
absorbing  or  transforming  the  ancient  childish 
sense  of  life-personal  ?  —  in  the  tone  of  the  new 


182     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

rapture  in  world -beauty,  dominating  the  elder 
worship  of  beauty-human  ? — in  the  larger  mod 
ern  joy  evoked  by  the  blossoming  of  dawns,  the 
blossoming  of  stars,  —  by  all  quiverings  of  color, 
all  shudderings  of  light  ?  And  is  not  the  thing- 
in-itself,  the  detail,  the  appearance,  being  ever  less 
and  less  studied  for  its  mere  power  to  charm,  and 
ever  more  and  more  studied  as  a  single  character 
in  that  Infinite  Riddle  of  which  all  phenomena 
are  but  ideographs  ? 

Nay !  —  surely  the  time  must  come  when  we 
shall  desire  to  be  all  that  is,  all  that  ever  has  been 
known,  —  the  past  and  the  present  and  the  future 
in  one,  —  all  feeling,  striving,  thinking,  joying, 
sorrowing,  —  and  everywhere  the  Part,  —  and 
everywhere  the  Whole.  And  before  us,  with  the 
waxing  of  the  wish,  perpetually  the  Infinities  shall 
widen. 

And  I  —  even  I !  —  by  virtue  of  that  wish, 
shall  become  all  forms,  all  forces,  all  conditions  : 
Ether,  Wind,  Fire,  Water,  Earth,  — all  motion 
visible  or  viewless,  —  all  vibration  named  of  light, 
of  color,  of  sonority,  of  torref action,  —  all  thrill- 
ings  piercing  substance,  —  all  oscillations  picturing 
in  blackness,  like  the  goblin-vision  of  the  X-rays. 


Of  Moon-Desire  183 

By  virtue  of  that  wish  I  shall  become  the  Source 
of  all  becoming  and  of  all  ceasing,  —  the  Power 
that  shapes,  the  Power  that  dissolves,  —  creating, 
with  the  shadows  of  my  sleep,  the  life  that  shall 
vanish  with  my  wakening.  And  even  as  phos- 
phor-lampings  in  currents  of  midnight  sea,  so 
shall  shimmer  and  pulse  and  pass,  in  mine  Ocean 
of  Death  and  Birth,  the  burning  of  billions  of 
suns,  the  whirling  of  trillions  of  worlds.  .  .  . 


IV 


— "  Well,"  said  the  friend  to  whom  I  read  this 
revery,  "  there  is  some  Buddhism  in  your  fancies 
—  though  you  seem  to  have  purposely  avoided 
several  important  points  of  doctrine.  For  in 
stance,  you  must  know  that  Nirvana  is  never  to 
be  reached  by  wishing,  but  by  not  wishing.  What 
you  call  the  '  wish-to-become '  can  only  help  us, 
like  a  lantern,  along  the  darker  portions  of  the 
Way.  As  for  wanting  the  Moon  —  I  think  that 
you  must  have  seen  many  old  Japanese  pictures 
of  apes  clutching  at  the  reflection  of  the  Moon  in 
water.  The  subject  is  a  Buddhist  parable :  the 
water  is  the  phantom -flux  of  sensations  and  ideas ; 


184     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  Moon  —  not  its  distorted  image  —  is  the  sole 
Truth.  And  your  Western  philosopher  was  really 
teaching  a  Buddhist  parable  when  he  proclaimed 
man  but  a  higher  kind  of  ape.  For  in  this 
world  of  illusion,  man  is  truly  still  the  ape,  trying 
to  seize  on  water  the  shadow  of  the  Moon." 

—  "  Ape  indeed,"  I  made  answer,  —  "  but  an 
ape  of  gods,  —  even  that  divine  Ape  of  the 
Ramayana  who  may  clutch  the  Sun!" 


Retrospectives 


Murmurs  and  scents  of  the  Infinite  Sea." 

—  MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


First  Impressions 


I 


I  WONDER  why  the  emblematical  significance 
of  the  Composite  Photograph  has  been  so 
little  considered  by  the  philosophers  of  evo 
lution.  In  the  blending  and  coalescing  of  the 
shadows  that  make  it,  is  there  no  suggestion  of 
that  bioplasm  ic  chemistry  which,  out  of  the  in 
termingling  of  innumerable  lives,  crystallizes  the 
composite  of  personality  ?  Has  the  superimposi- 
tion  of  images  upon  the  sensitized  plate  no  like 
ness  to  those  endless  superimpositions  of  heredity 
out  of  which  every  individuality  must  shape  it 
self  ?  .  .  .  Surely  it  is  a  very  weird  thing,  this 
Composite  Photograph,  —  and  hints  of  things 
weirder. 

Every  human  face  is  a  living  composite  of 
countless  faces,  —  generations  and  generations  of 
faces  superimposed  upon  the  sensitive  film  of  Life 


188     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

for  the  great  cosmic  developing  process.  And 
any  living  face,  well  watched  by  love  or  by  hate, 
will  reveal  the  fact.  The  face  of  friend  or  sweet 
heart  has  a  hundred  different  aspects;  and  you 
know  that  you  want,  when  his  or  her  "  likeness  " 
is  taken,  to  insist  upon  the  reflection  of  the 
dearest  of  these.  The  face  of  your  enemy,  —  no 
matter  what  antipathy  it  may  excite,  —  is  not  in 
variably  hateful  in  itself :  you  must  acknowledge, 
to  yourself  at  least,  having  observed  in  it  mo 
ments  of  an  expression  the  reverse  of  unworthy. 
Probably  the  ancestral  types  that  try  to  re 
produce  themselves  in  the  modulations  of  facial 
expression,  are  nearly  always  the  more  recent ;  — 
the  very  ancient  having  become  metamorphosed, 
under  weight  of  superimposition,  into  a  blank 
underlying  vagueness,  —  a  mere  protoplasmic 
background  out  of  which,  except  in  rare  and 
monstrous  cases,  no  outline  can  detach  itself. 
But  in  every  normal  face  whole  generations  of 
types  do  certainly,  by  turns  of  mood,  make  flit 
ting  apparition.  Any  mother  knows  this. .  Study 
ing  day  by  day  the  features  of  her  child,  she 
finds  in  them  variations  not  to  be  explained  by 
simple  growth.  Sometimes  there  is  a  likeness  to 
one  parent  or  grandparent ;  sometimes  a  likeness 


First  Impressions  189 

to  another,  or  to  remoter  kindred ;  and  at  rarer 
intervals  may  appear  peculiarities  of  expression 
that  no  member  of  the  family  can  account  for. 
(Thus,  in  darker  centuries,  the  ghastly  supersti 
tion  of  the  "  changeling,"  was  not  only  possible, 
but  in  a  certain  sense  quite  natural.)  Through 
youth  and  manhood  and  far  into  old  age  these 
mutations  continue,  —  though  always  more  slowly 
and  faintly,  —  even  while  the  general  character- 
istics  steadily  accentuate;  and  death  itself  may 
bring  into  the  countenance  some  strange  expres 
sion  never  noticed  during  life. 


II 

As  a  rule  we  recognize  faces  by  the  modes 
of  expression  habitually  worn,  —  by  the  usually 
prevalent  character-tones  of  them,  —  rather  than 
by  any  steady  memory  of  lines.  But  no  face  at  all 
moments  remains  exactly  the  same  ;  and  in  cases 
of  exceptional  variability  the  expression  does  not 
suffice  for  recognition :  we  have  to  look  for  some 
fixed  peculiarity,  some  minute  superficial  detail 
independent  of  physiognomy.  All  expression  has 
but  a  relative  permanency:  even  in  faces  the 


190     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

most  strongly  marked,  its  variations  may  defy 
estimate.  Perhaps  the  mobility  is,  within  certain 
limits,  in  direct  ratio  to  irregularity  of  feature ;  — 
any  approach  to  ideal  beauty  being  also  an  ap 
proach  to  relative  fixity.  At  all  events,  the  more 
familiar  we  become  with  any  common  face,  the 
more  astonishing  the  multitude  of  the  transfor 
mations  we  observe  in  it,  —  the  more  indescrib 
able  and  bewildering  its  fugitive  subtleties  of 
expression.  And  what  are  these  but  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  life  ancestral,  —  under-ripplings  in  that 
well-spring  unfathomable  of  personality  whose 
flood  is  Soul.  Perpetually  beneath  the  fluid  tis 
sues  of  flesh  the  dead  are  moulding  and  moving 
—  not  singly  (for  in  no  phenomenon  is  there  any 
singleness),  but  in  currents  and  by  surgings. 
Sometimes  there  is  an  eddying  of  ghosts  of  love ; 
and  the  face  dawns  as  if  a  sunrise  lighted  it. 
Sometimes  there  is  a  billowing  up  of  ghosts  of 
hate ;  and  the  face  darkens  and  distorts  like  an 
evil  dream,  —  and  we  say  to  the  mind  behind  it, 
"  You  are  not  now  your  better  self"  But  that 
which  we  call  the  self,  whether  the  better  or  the 
worse,  is  a  complexity  forever  shifting  the  order 
of  its  combinations.  According  to  stimulus  of 
hope  or  fear,  of  joy  or  pain,  there  must  vibrate 


First  Impressions  191 

within  every  being,  at  differing  rhythms,  with 
varying  oscillation,  incalculable  tremulosities  of 
ancestral  life.  In  the  calmest  normal  existence 
slumber  all  the  psychical  tones  of  the  past,  —  from 
the  lurid  red  of  primal  sense-impulse  to  the  vio 
let  of  spiritual  aspiration,  —  even  as  all  known 
colours  sleep  in  white  light.  And  over  the  sensi 
tive  living  mask,  at  each  strong  alternation  of  the 
psychical  currents,  flit  shadowy  resurrections  of 
dead  expression. 

Seeing  faces  and  their  changes,  we  learn  in 
tuitively  the  relation  to  our  own  selves  of  the 
selves  that  confront  us.  In  very  few  cases  could 
we  even  try  to  explain  how  this  knowledge 
comes,  —  how  we  reach  those  conclusions  called, 
in  common  parlance,  "  first  impressions."  Faces 
are  not  read.  The  impressions  they  give  are 
only  felt,  and  have  much  of  the  same  vague 
character  as  impressions  of  sound,  —  making 
within  us  mental  states  either  pleasant  or  un 
pleasant  or  somewhat  of  both,  —  evoking  now 
a  sense  of  danger,  now  a  melting  sympathy,  oc 
casionally  a  gentle  sadness.  And  these  impres 
sions,  though  seldom  at  fault,  cannot  be  very 
well  explained  in  words.  The  reasons  of  their 
accuracy  are  likewise  the  reasons  of  their  mys- 


192     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

tery,  —  reasons  not  to  be  discovered  in  the  nar 
row  range  of  our  personal  experience,  —  reasons 
very,  very  much  older  than  we.  Could  we 
remember  our  former  lives,  we  should  know 
more  exactly  the  meaning  of  our  likes  and  our 
dislikes.  For  the  truth  is  that  they  are  superin- 
dividual.  It  is  not  the  individual  eye  that  per 
ceives  everything  perceived  in  a  face.  The  dead 
are  the  real  seers.  But  as  they  remain  unable  to 
guide  us  otherwise  than  by  touching  the  chords 
of  mental  pleasure  or  pain,  we  can  feel  the  rela 
tive  meaning  of  faces  only  in  a  dim,  though 
powerful  way. 

Instinctively,  at  least,  superindividuality  is  com 
monly  recognized.  Hence  such  phrases  as  "  force 
of  character,"  "  moral  force/'  "  personal  fascina 
tion,"  "  personal  magnetism, "and others  showing 
that  the  influence  exerted  by  man  upon  man  is 
known  to  be  independent  of  mere  physical  condi 
tions.  Very  insignificant  bodies  have  that  within 
them  by  which  formidable  bodies  are  mastered 
and  directed.  The  flesh-and-blood  man  is  only 
the  visible  end  of  an  invisible  column  of  force 
reaching  out  of  the  infinite  past  into  the  momen 
tary  present,  —  only  the  material  Symbol  of  an 
immaterial  host.  A  contest  between  even  two 


First  Impressions  192 

wills  is  a  contest  of  phantom  armies.  The  dom 
ination  of  many  personalities  by  the  simple  will 
of  one,  —  hinting  the  perception  by  the  compelled 
of  superior  viewless  powers  behind  the  compeller, 
—  is  never  to  be  interpreted  by  the  old  hypothesis 
of  soul-equality.  Only  by  scientific  psychology 
can  the  mystery  of  certain  formidable  characters 
be  even  partly  explained;  but  any  explanation 
must  rest  upon  the  acceptance,  in  some  form  or 
other,  of  the  immense  evolutional  fact  of  psychi 
cal  inheritance.  And  psychical  inheritance  signi 
fies  the  super-individual,  —  pre-existence  revived 
in  compound  personality. 

Yet,  from  our  ethical  standpoint,  that  super- 
individuality  which  we  thus  unconsciously  allow 
in  the  very  language  used  to  express  psychical 
domination,  is  a  lower  manifestation.  Though 
working  often  for  good,  the  power  in  itself  is  of 
evil ;  and  the  recognition  of  it  by  the  subjugated 
is  not  a  recognition  of  higher  moral  energy,  but 
of  a  higher  mental  energy  signifying  larger  evo 
lutional  experience  of  wrong,  deeper  reserves  of 
aggressive  ingenuity,  heavier  capacities  for  the 
giving  of  pain.  Called  by  no  matter  what  eu 
phemistic  name,  such  power  is  brutal  in  its  origin, 
and  still  allied  to  those  malignities  and  ferocities 
'3 


194     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

shared  by  man  with  lower  predatory  creatures. 
But  the  beauty  of  the  superindividual  is  revealed 
in  that  rarer  power  which  the  dead  lend  the  living 
to  win  trust,  to  inspire  ideals,  to  create  love,  to 
brighten  whole  circles  of  existence  with  the  charm 
and  wonder  of  a  personality  never  to  be  described 
save  in  the  language  of  light  and  music. 


Ill 

Now  if  we  could  photographically  decompose  a 
composite  photograph  so  as  to  separate  in  order 
inverse  all  the  impressions  interblended  to  make 
it,  such  process  would  clumsily  represent  what 
really  happens  when  the  image  of  a  strange  face 
is  telegraphed  back  —  like  a  police- photograph  — 
from  the  living  retina  to  the  mysterious  offices  of 
inherited  memory.  There,  with  the  quickness  of 
an  electric  flash,  the  shadow -face  is  decomposed 
into  all  the  ancestral  types  combined  in  it ;  and 
the  resulting  verdict  of  the  dead,  though  rendered 
only  by  indefinable  sensation,  is  more  trustworthy 
than  any  written  certificate  of  character  could  ever 
be.  But  its  trustworthiness  is  limited  to  the 
potential  relation  of  the  individual  seen  to  the 


First  Impressions 

individual  seeing.  Upon  different  minds,  ac 
cording  to  the  delicate  balance  of  personality, 
—  according  to  the  qualitative  sum  of  inherited 
experience  in  the  psychical  composition  of  the 
observer,  —  the  same  features  will  make  very 
different  impressions.  A  face  that  strongly 
repels  one  person  may  not  less  strongly  attract 
another,  and  will  produce  nearly  similar  impres 
sions  only  on  groups  of  emotionally  homogeneous 
natures.  Certainly  the  fact  of  this  ability  to 
discern  in  the  composition  of  faces  that  indefin 
able  something  which  welcomes  or  which  warns, 
does  suggest  the  possibility  of  deciding  some 
laws  of  ethical  physiognomy;  but  such  laws 
would  necessarily  be  of  a  very  general  and  simple 
kind,  and  their  relative  value  could  never  equal 
that  of  the  uneducated  personal  intuition. 

How,  indeed,  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  What 
science  could  ever  hope  to  measure  the  infinite 
possibilities  of  psychical  combination  ?  And  the 
present  in  every  countenance  is  a  recombination 
of  the  past ;  —  the  living  is  always  a  resurrection 
of  the  dead.  The  sympathies  and  the  fears, 
the  hopes  and  the  repulsions  that  faces  inspire, 
are  but  revivals  and  reiterations,  —  echoes  of  sen- 
tiency  created  in  millions  of  minds  by  immeasur- 


196     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

able  experience  operating  through  immeasurable 
time.  My  friend  of  this  hour,  though  no  more 
identical  with  his  forefathers  than  any  single 
ripple  of  a  current  is  identical  with  all  the  ripples 
that  ever  preceded  it,  is  nevertheless  by  soul- 
composition  one  with  myriads  known  and  loved 
in  other  lands  and  in  other  lives,  —  in  times 
recorded  and  in  times  forgotten,  —  in  cities  that 
still  remain  and  in  cities  that  have  ceased  to  be,  — 
by  thousands  of  my  vanished  selves. 


Beauty  is  Memory 


Beauty  is  Memory 


I 

WHEN  you  first  saw  her  your  heart  leaped, 
and  a  tingling  shocked  through  all 
your  blood  like  a  gush  of  electricity. 
Simultaneously  your  senses  were  changed,  and 
long  so  remained. 

That  sudden  throb  was  the  awakening  of  your 
dead  ;  —  and  that  thrill  was  made  by  the  swarm 
ing  and  the  crowding  of  them  ;  —  and  that  change 
of  sense  was  wrought  only  by  their  multitudinous 
desire,  —  for  which  reason  it  seemed  an  intensifi 
cation.  They  remembered  having  loved  a  num 
ber  of  young  persons  somewhat  resembling  her. 
But  where,  or  when,  they  did  not  recollect.  They 
—  (and  They,  of  course,  are  You)  —  had  drunk 
of  Lethe  many  times  since  then. 

The  true  name  of  the  River  of  Forgetfulness  is 
the  River  of  Death  —  though  you  may  not  find 
authority  for  the  statement  in  classical  dictionaries. 


200     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

But  the  Greek  story,  that  the  waters  of  Lethe 
bring  to  weary  souls  oblivion  of  the  past,  is  not 
quite  true.  One  draught  will  indeed  numb  and 
becloud  some  forms  of  memory, — will  efface  the 
remembrance  of  dates  and  names  and  of  other 
trifling  details ;  —  but  a  million  draughts  will  not 
produce  total  oblivion.  Even  the  destruction  of 
the  world  would  not  have  that  result.  Nothing 
is  absolutely  forgotten  except  the  non-essential. 
The  essential  can,  at  most,  only  be  dimmed  by 
the  drinking  of  Lethe. 

It  was  because  of  billions  of  billions  of  memo 
ries  amassed  through  trillions  of  lives,  and  blended 
within  you  into  some  one  vague  delicious  image, 
that  you  came  to  believe  a  certain  being  more 
beautiful  than  the  sun.  The  delusion  signified 
that  she  happened  to  resemble  this  composite,  — 
mnemonic  shadowing  of  all  the  dead  women 
related  to  the  loves  of  your  innumerable  lives. 
And  this  first  part  of  your  experience,  when  you 
could  not  understand,  —  when  you  fancied  the 
beloved  a  witch,  and  never  even  dreamed  that 
the  witchery  might  be  the  work  of  ghosts,  was  — 
the  Period  of  Wonder. 


Beauty  is  Memory  201 


II 

Wonder  at  what  ?  At  the  power  and  mystery 
of  beauty.  (For  whether  only  within  yourself, 
or  partly  within  and  partly  outside  of  yourself,  it 
was  beauty  that  you  saw,  and  that  made  you 
wonder.)  But  you  will  now  remember  that  the 
beloved  seemed  lovelier  than  mortal  woman  really 
could  be ;  —  and  the  how  and  the  why  of  that 
seeming  are  questions  of  interest. 

With  the  power  to  see  beauty  we  are  born  — 
somewhat,  though  not  altogether,  as  we  are  born 
with  the  power  to  perceive  color.  Most  human 
beings  are  able  to  discern  something  of  beauty, 
or  at  least  of  approach  to  beauty  —  though  the 
volume  of  the  faculty  varies  in  different  indivi 
duals  more  than  the  volume  of  a  mountain  varies 
from  that  of  a  grain  of  sand.  There  are  men 
born  blind ;  but  the  normal  being  inherits  some 
ideal  of  beauty.  It  may  be  vivid  or  it  may  be 
vague ;  but  in  every  case  it  represents  an  accu 
mulation  of  countless  impressions  received  by  the 
race,  —  countless  fragments,  of  prenatal  remem 
brance  crystallized  into  one  composite  image 


202     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

within  organic  memory,  where,  like  the  viewless 
image  on  a  photographic  plate  awaiting  develop 
ment,  it  remains  awhile  in  darkness  absolute. 
And  just  because  it  is  a  composite  of  numberless 
race-memories  of  individual  attraction,  this  ideal 
necessarily  represents,  in  the  superior  mind,  a 
something  above  the  existing  possible,  —  some 
thing  never  to  be  realized,  much  less  surpassed,  in 
the  present  state  of  humanity. 

And  what  is  the  relation  of  this  composite, 
fairer  than  human  possibility,  to  the  illusion  of 
love  ?  If  it  be  permissible  to  speak  one's  imag 
ining  of  the  unimaginable,  1  can  dare  a  theory. 
When,  in  the  hour  of  the  ripeness  of  youth, 
there  is  perceived  some  objective  comeliness 
faintly  corresponding  to  certain  outlines  of  the 
inherited  ideal,  at  once  a  wave  of  emotion  ances 
tral  bathes  the  long-darkened  image,  defines  it, 
illuminates  it,  —  and  so  deludes  the  senses ;  —  for 
the  sense-reflection  of  the  living  objective  becomes 
temporarily  blended  with  the  subjective  phan 
tasm,  —  with  the  beautiful  luminous  ghost  made 
of  centillions  of  memories.  Thus  to  the  lover 
the  common  suddenly  becomes  the  impossible, 
because  he  really  perceives  blended  with  it  the 
superindividual  and  superhuman.  He  is  much 


Beauty  is  Memory  203 

too  deeply  bewitched  by  that  supernatural  to  be 
persuaded  of  his  illusion,  by  any  reasoning. 
What  conquers  his  will  is  not  the  magic  of 
anything  living  or  tangible,  but  a  charm  sinuous 
and  fugitive  and  light  as  fire,  —  a  spectral  snare 
prepared  for  him  by  myriads  unthinkable  of 
generations  of  dead. 

So  much  and  no  more  of  theory  I  venture  as 
to  the  how  of  the  riddle.  But  what  of  the  why, 
— the  reason  of  the  emotion  made  by  this  ghostly 
beauty  revived  out  of  the  measureless  past? 
What  should  beauty  have  to  do  with  a  superin- 
dividual  ecstasy  older  than  all  aesthetic  feeling  ? 
What  is  the  evolutional  secret  of  the  fascination 
of  beauty  ? 

I  think  that  an  answer  can  be  given.  But  it 
will  involve  the  fullest  acceptance  of  this  truth : 
—  There  is  no  such  thing  as  beauty -in -it  self. 

All  the  riddles  and  contradictions  of  our  aesthetic 
systems  are  natural  consequences  of  the  delusion 
that  beauty  is  a  something  absolute,  a  transcen 
dental  reality,  an  eternal  fact.  It  is  true  that  the 
appearance  we  call  beauty  is  the  symbol  of  a 
fact,  —  is  the  visible  manifestation  of  a  develop 
ment  beyond  the  ordinary,  —  a  bodily  evolution 


204     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

more  advanced  than  the  existing  average.  In  like 
manner  what  we  call  grace  is  a  real  manifestation 
of  the  economy  of  force.  But  since  there  can  be 
no  cosmic  limit  to  evolutional  possibilities,  there 
never  can  be  any  standards  of  grace  or  of  beauty 
that  are  not  relative  and  essentially  transitory; 
and  there  can  be  no  physical  ideals,  —  not  even 
Greek  ideals,  —  that  might  not  in  the  course  of 
human  evolution  or  of  superhuman  evolution  be 
so  much  more  than  realized  as  to  become  vulgar 
ities  of  form.  An  ultimate  of  beauty  is  incon 
ceivable  and  impossible ;  no  term  of  aesthetics  can 
ever  represent  more  than  the  idea  of  a  phase  of 
the  perpetual  becoming,  a  temporary  relation  in 
comparative  evolution.  Beauty-in-itself  is  only 
the  name  of  a  sensation,  or  complex  of  sensation, 
mistaken  for  objectivity  —  much  as  sound  and 
light  and  color  were  once  imagined  to  be  realities. 

Yet  what  is  it  that  attracts  ?  —  what  is  the  mean 
ing  of  the  resistless  emotion  which  we  call  the 
Sense  of  Beauty  ? 

Like  the  sensing  of  light  or  color  or  perfume, 
the  recognition  of  beauty  is  a  recognition  of  fact. 
But  that  fact  bears  to  the  feeling  evoked  no  more 
likeness  than  the  reality  of  five  hundred  billions  of 
ether-shiverings  per  second  bears  to  the  sensation 


Beauty  is  Memory  20|> 

of  orange.  Still  in  either  case  the  fact  is  a  mani 
festation  of  force.  Representing  higher  evolution, 
the  phenomenon  termed  beauty  also  represents  a 
relatively  superior  fitness  for  life,  a  higher  ability  to 
fulfil  the  conditions  of  existence ;  and  it  is  the  non- 
conscious  perception  of  this  representation  that 
makes  the  fascination.  The  longing  aroused  is  not 
for  any  mere  abstraction,  but  for  greater  complete- 
ness  of  faculty  as  means  to  the  natural  end.  To 
the  dead  within  each  man,  beauty  signifies  the 
presence  of  what  they  need  most,  —  Power.  They 
know,  in  despite  of  Lethe,  that  when  they  lived  in 
comely  bodies  life  was  usually  made  easy  and 
happy  for  them,  and  that  when  prisoned  in  feeble 
or  in  ugly  bodies,  they  found  life  miserable  or 
difficult.  They  want  to  live  many  times  again  in 
sound  young  bodies,  —  in  shapes  that  assure  force, 
health,  joy,  quickness  to  win  and  energy  to  keep 
the  best  prizes  of  life's  contest.  They  want,  if 
possible,  conditions  better  than  any  of  the  past, 
but  in  no  event  conditions  worse. 


206     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 


in 

And  so  the  Riddle  resolves  itself  as  Memory,  — 
immeasurable  Memory  of  all  bodily  fitness  for 
the  ends  of  life :  a  Composite  glorified,  doubtless, 
by  some  equally  measureless  inherited  sense  of 
all  the  vanished  joys  ever  associated  with  such 
fitness. 

Infinite,  may  we  not  term  it  —  this  Composite  ? 
Aye,  but  not  merely  because  the  multitudes  of 
dead  memories  that  make  it  are  unspeakable. 
Equally  unspeakable  the  width  and  the  depth  of 
the  range  of  them  throughout  the  enormity  of 
Time.  .  .  .  O  lover,  how  slender  the  beautiful 
witch,  —  the  ghost  within  the  ghost  of  you !  Yet 
the  depth  of  that  ghost  is  the  depth  of  the  Nebu 
lous  Zone  bespanning  Night,  —  the  luminous 
Shadow  that  Egypt  figured  of  old  as  Mother  of 
the  Sun  and  the  Gods,  curving  her  long  white 
woman's-body  over  the  world.  As  a  vapor  of 
phosphorus,  or  wake  of  a  ship  in  the  night, — 
only  so  with  naked  eye  can  we  behold  it.  But 
pierced  by  vision  telescopic,  it  is  revealed  as  the 
further  side  of  the  Ring  of  the  Cosmos,  —  dim  belt 
of  millions  of  suns  seemingly  massed  together  like 


Beauty  is  Memory  207 

the  cells  of  a  living  body,  yet  so  seeming  only  by 
reason  of  their  frightful  remoteness.  Even  thus 
really  separated  each  from  each  in  the  awfulness 
of  the  Night  of  Time,  —  by  silent  profundities  of 
centuries,  —  by  interspaces  of  thousands  and  of 
myriads  of  years,  —  though  collectively  shaping 
to  love's  desire  but  one  dim  soft  sweet  phantom, 
—  are  those  million-swarming  memories  that 
make  for  youth  its  luminous  dream  of  beauty. 


Sadness  in  Beauty 


Sadness  in  Beauty 

THE  poet  who  sang  that  beautiful  things 
bring  sadness,  named  as  beautiful  things 
music  and  sunset  and  night,  clear  skies 
and  transparent  waters.  Their  sadness  he  sought 
to  explain  by  vague  soul-memories  of  Paradise. 
Very  old-fashioned  this  explanation ;  but  it  con 
tains  a  shadowing  of  truth.  For  the  mysterious 
sadness  associated  with  the  sense  of  beauty  is 
certainly  not  of  this  existence,  but  of  countless 
anterior  lives,  —  and  therefore  indeed  a  sadness 
of  reminiscence. 

Elsewhere  1  try  to  explain  why  certain  qualities 
of  music,  and  certain  aspects  of  sunset  produce 
sadness,  and  even  more  than  sadness.  As  for 
impressions  of  night,  however,  I  doubt  if  the 
emotion  that  night  evokes  in  this  nineteenth  cen 
tury  can  be  classed  with  the  sadness  that  beauty 
brings.  A  wonderful  night,  —  a  tropical  night, 
for  instance,  lucent  and  lukewarm,  with  a  new 
moon  in  it,  curved  and  yellow  like  a  ripe  banana, 
• — may  inspire,  among  other  minor  feelings 


212     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

something  of  tenderness ;  but  the  great  dominant 
emotion  evoked  by  the  splendor  of  the  vision  is 
not  sadness.  Breaking  open  the  heavens  to  their 
highest,  night  widens  modern  thought  over  the 
bounds  of  life  and  death  by  the  spectacle  of  that 
Infinite  whose  veil  is  day.  Night  also  forces 
remembrance  of  the  mystery  of  our  tether, — 
the  viewless  force  that  holds  us  down  to  this 
wretched  little  ball  of  a  world.  And  the  result  is 
cosmic  emotion  —  vaster  than  any  sense  of  the 
sublime,  —  drowning  all  other  emotion,  —  but 
nowise  akin  to  the  sadness  that  beauty  causes. 
Anciently  the  emotion  of  night  must  have  been 
incomparably  less  voluminous.  Men  who  be 
lieved  the  sky  to  be  a  solid  vault,  never  could 
have  felt,  as  we  feel  it,  the  stupendous  pomp  of 
darkness.  And  our  ever-growing  admiration 
of  those  awful  astral  questions  in  the  Book  of 
Job,  is  mainly  due  to  the  fact  that,  with  the  prog 
ress  of  science,  they  continue  to  make  larger 
and  larger  appeal  to  forms  of  thought  and  feeling 
which  never  could  have  entered  into  the  mind 
of  Job. 

But  the  sadness  excited  by  the  beauty  of  a  per 
fect  day,  or  by  the  charm  of  nature  in  her 
brightest  moods,  is  a  fact  of  another  kind,  and 


Sadness  in  Beauty  213 

needs  a  different  explanation.  Inherited  the  feel 
ing  must  be,  —  but  through  what  cumulation  of 
ancestral  pain  ?  Why  should  the  tenderness  of 
an  unclouded  sky,  the  soft  green  sleep  of  sum 
mered  valleys,  the  murmurous  peace  of  sun- 
flecked  shadows,  inspire  us  with  sadness  ?  Why 
should  any  inherited  emotion  following  an 
aesthetic  perception  be  melancholy  rather  than 
joyous  ?  ...  Of  course  I  do  not  refer  to  the 
sense  of  vastness  or  permanence  or  power  aroused 
by  the  sight  of  the  sea,  or  by  any  vision  of  sea- 
like  space,  or  by  the  majesty  of  colossal  ranges. 
That  is  the  feeling  of  the  sublime,  —  always 
related  to  fear.  /Esthetic  sadness  is  related  rather 
to  desire. 

"  All  beautiful  things  bring  sadness,"  is  a  state 
ment  as  near  to  truth  as  most  general  statements ; 
but  the  sadness  and  its  evolutional  history  must 
vary  according  to  circumstances.  The  melan 
choly  awakened  by  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  face 
cannot  be  identical  with  that  awakened  by  the 
sight  of  a  landscape,  by  the  hearing  of  music, 
or  by  the  reading  of  a  poem.  Yet  there  should 
be  some  one  emotional  element  common  to 
aesthetic  sadness,  —  one  general  kind  of  feeling 


214     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

which  would  help  us  to  solve  the  riddle  of  the 
melancholy  inspired  by  the  sight  of  beauty  in 
Nature.  Such  a  common  element,  I  believe,  is  , 
inherited  longing,  —  inherited  dim  sense  of  loss, 
shadowed  and  qualified  variously  by  interrelated 
feelings.  Different  forms  of  this  inheritance 
would  be  awakened  by  different  impressions  of 
the  beautiful.  In  the  case  of  human  beauty,  the 
aesthetic  recognition  might  be  toned  or  shadowed 
by  immemorial  inheritance  of  pain  —  pain  of 
longing,  and  pain  of  separation  from  numberless 
forgotten  beloved.  In  the  case  of  a  color,  a 
melody,  an  effect  of  sunshine  or  of  moonlight, 
the  sense-impressions  appealing  to  aesthetic  feeling 
might  equally  appeal  to  various  ancestral  memo 
ries  of  pain.  The  melancholy  given  by  the  sight 
of  a  beautiful  landscape  is  certainly  a  melancholy 
of  longing,  —  a  sadness  massive  as  vague,  because 
made  by  the  experience  of  millions  of  our  dead. 

"  The  aesthetic  feeling  for  nature  in  its  purity," 
declares  Sully, "  is  a  modern  growth  ...  the  feel 
ing  for  nature's  wild  solitudes  is  hardly  older  than 
Rousseau."  Perhaps  to  many  this  will  seem  rather 
a  strong  statement  in  regard  to  the  races  of  the 
West ;  —  it  is  not  true  of  the  races  of  the  Far  East, 
whose  art  and  poetry  yield  ancient  proof  to  the 


Sadness  in  Beauty          21  £ 

contrary.  But  no  evolutionist  would  deny  that 
the  aesthetic  love  of  nature  has  been  developed 
through  civilization,  and  that  many  abstract  sen 
timents  now  involved  with  it  are  of  very  recent 
origin.  Much  of  the  sadness  made  in  us  by  the 
sight  of  a  beautiful  landscape  would  therefore  be 
of  comparatively  modern  growth,  though  less 
modern  than  some  of  the  higher  qualities  of 
aesthetic  pleasure  which  accompany  the  emotion. 
I  surmise  it  to  be  mainly  the  inherited  pain  of 
that  separation  from  Nature  which  began  with  the 
building  of  walled  cities.  Possibly  there  is  blended 
with  it  something  of  incomparably  older  sorrow 
—  such  as  the  immemorial  mourning  of  man 
for  the  death  of  summer ;  but  this,  and  other 
feelings  inherited  from  ages  of  wandering,  would 
revive  more  especially  in  the  great  vague  melan 
choly  that  autumn  brings  into  what  we  still  call 
our  souls. 

Ever  as  the  world  increasing  its  wisdom  in. 
creases  its  sorrow,  our  dwellers  in  cities  built  up 
to  heaven  more  and  more  regret  the  joys  of  hu 
manity's  childhood,  —  the  ancient  freedom  of 
forest  and  peak  and  plain,  the  brightness  of 
mountain  water,  the  cool  keen  sweetness  of  the 


216     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

sea's  breath  and  the  thunder-roll  of  its  eternal 
epic.  And  all  this  regret  of  civilization  for  Na 
ture  irretrievably  forsaken,  may  somehow  revive 
in  that  great  soft  dim  sadness  which  the  beauty 
of  a  landscape  makes  us  feel. 

In  one  sense  we  are  certainly  wrong  when  we 
say  that  the  loveliness  of  a  scene  brings  tears  to 
the  eyes.  It  cannot  be  the  loveliness  of  the  scene ; 
—  it  is  the  longing  of  generations  quickening 
in  the  hearts  of  us.  The  beauty  we  speak  of 
has  no  real  existence :  the  emotion  of  the  dead 
alone  makes  it  seem  to  be,  —  the  emotion  of 
those  long-buried  millions  of  men  and  women 
who  loved  Nature  for  reasons  very  much  simpler 
and  older  than  any  aesthetic  emotion  is.  To  the 
windows  of  the  house  of  life  their  phantoms 
crowd,  —  like  prisoners  toward  some  vision  of 
bright  skies  and  flying  birds,  free  hills  and  glim 
mering  streams,  beyond  the  iron  of  their  bars. 
They  behold  their  desire  of  other  time,  —  the 
vast  light  and  space  of  the  world,  the  wind 
swept  clearness  of  azure,  the  hundred  greens  of 
wold  and  plain,  the  spectral  promise  of  summits 
far  away.  They  hear  the  shrilling  and  the  whirr 
of  happy  winged  things,  the  chorus  of  cicada  and 
bird,  the  lisping  and  laughing  of  water,  the  under- 


Sadness  in  Beauty  217 

tone  of  leafage  astir.  They  know  the  smell  of 
the  season  —  all  sharp  sweet  odors  of  sap,  scents 
of  flower  and  fruitage.  They  feel  the  quicken 
ing  of  the  living  air,  —  the  thrilling  of  the  great 
Blue  Ghost. 

But  all  this  comes  to  them,  filtered  through  the 
bars  and  veils  of  their  rebirth,  only  as  dreams  of 
home  to  hopeless  exile,  —  of  child-bliss  to  deso 
late  age, — of  remembered  vision  to  the  blind ! 


Parfum  de  Jeunesse 


Parfum  de  Jeunesse 

"  T  REMEMBER,"  — said  an  old  friend,  telling 
me  the  romance  of  his  youth,  — "  that  1 
could  always  find  her  cloak  in  the  cloak 
room  without  a  light,  when  it  was  time  to  take 
her  home.    I  used  to  know  it  in  the  dark,  because 
it  had  the  smell  of  sweet  new  milk.  ..." 

Which  set  me  somehow  to  thinking  of  English 
dawns,  the  scent  of  hayfields,  the  fragrance  of 
hawthorn  days;  —  and  cluster  after  cluster  of 
memories  lighted  up  in  succession  through  a 
great  arc  of  remembrance  that  flashed  over  half 
a  lifetime  even  before  my  friend's  last  words  had 
ceased  to  sound  in  my  ears.  And  then  recollec 
tion  smouldered  into  revery,  —  a  revery  about  the 
riddle  of  the  odor  of  youth. 

That  quality  of  the  parfum  de  jeunesse  which 
my  friend  described  is  not  uncommon,  —  though 
I  fancy  that  it  belongs  to  Northern  rather  than  to 


222     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Southern  races.  It  signifies  perfect  health  and 
splendid  vigor.  But  there  are  other  and  more 
delicate  varieties  of  the  attraction.  Sometimes  it 
may  cause  you  to  think  of  precious  gums  or  spices 
from  the  uttermost  tropics ;  sometimes  it  is  a  thin, 
thin  sweetness,  — like  a  ghost  of  musk.  It  is  not 
personal  (though  physical  personality  certainly 
has  an  odor) :  it  is  the  fragrance  of  a  season,  —  of 
the  springtime  of  life.  But  even  as  the  fragrance 
of  spring,  though  everywhere  a  passing  delight, 
varies  with  country  and  climate,  so  varies  the 
fragrance  of  youth. 

Whether  it  be  of  one  sex  more  than  of  another 
were  difficult  to  say.  We  notice  it  chiefly  in  girls 
and  in  children  with  long  hair,  probably  because 
it  dwells  especially  in  the  hair.  But  it  is  always 
independent  of  artifice  as  the  sweetness  of  the 
wild  violet  is.  It  belongs  to  the  youth  of  the 
savage  not  less  than  to  the  youth  of  the  civilized, 
—  to  the  adolescence  of  the  peasant  not  less  than 
to  that  of  the'prince.  It  is  not  found  in  the  sickly 
and  the  feeble,  but  only  in  perfect  joyous  health. 
Perhaps,  like  beauty,  it  may  have  some  vague 
general  relation  to  conditions  ethical.  Individual 
odors  assuredly  have,  —  as  the  discrimination  of 
the  dog  gives  witness. 


Parfum  de  Jeunesse          223 

Evolutionists  have  suggested  that  the  pleasure 
we  find  in  the  perfume  of  a  flower  may  be  an  emo 
tional  reflection  from  aeons  enormously  remote, 
when  such  odor  announced,  to  forms  of  ancestral 
life  far  lower  than  human,  the  presence  of  savory 
food.  To  what  organic  memory  of  association 
might  be  due,  upon  the  same  hypothesis,  our 
pleasure  in  the  perfume  of  youth? 

Perhaps  there  were  ages  in  which  that  perfume 
had  significances  more  definite  and  special  than 
any  which  we  can  now  attach  to  it.  Like  the 
pleasure  yielded  by  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  the 
pleasure  given  by  the  healthy  fragrance  of  a 
young  body  may  be,  partly  at  least,  a  survival 
from  some  era  in  which  odorous  impressions 
made  direct  appeal  to  the  simplest  of  life-serving 
impulses.  Long  dissociated  from  such  possible 
primitive  relation,  odor  of  blossom  and  odor  of 
youth  alike  have  now  become  for  us  excitants  of 
the  higher  emotional  life,  —  of  vague  but  volu 
minous  and  supremely  delicate  aesthetic  feeling. 

Like  the  feeling  awakened  by  beauty,  the  plea 
sure  of  odor  is  a  pleasure  of  remembrance,  —  is 
the  magical  appeal  of  a  sensation  to  countless 
memories  of  countless  lives.  And  even  as  the 
scent  of  a  blossom  evokes  the  ghosts  of  feelings 


224     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

experienced  in  millions  of  millions  of  unrecorded 
springs, — so  the  fragrance  of  youth  bestirs  within 
us  the  spectral  survival  of  sensations  associated 
with  every  vernal  cycle  of  all  the  human  existence 
that  has  vanished  behind  us. 

And  this  fragrance  of  fresh  being  likewise 
makes  invocation  to  ideal  sentiment,  —  to  paren 
tal  scarcely  less  than  to  amorous  tenderness, — 
because  conjoined  through  immeasurable  time 
with  the  charm  and  the  beauty  of  childhood. 
Out  of  night  and  death  is  summoned  by  its 
necromancy  more  than  a  shadowy  thrill  from  the 
rapture  of  perished  passion,  —  more  than  a  phan 
tom-reflex  from  the  delight  of  countless  bridals ; 
—  even  something  also  of  the  ecstasy  of  pressing 
lips  of  caress  to  the  silky  head  of  the  first-born,  — 
faint  refluence  from  the  forgotten  joy  of  myriad 
millions  of  buried  mothers. 


Azure  Psychology 


tl 


Azure  Psychology 

* 


i 


LEAST  common  of  the  colors  given  by  na 
ture  to  bird,  insect,  and  blossom  is  bright 
.pure  blue.  Blue  flowers  are  believed  to 
proclaim  for  the  plant  that  bears  them  a  longer 
history  of  unchecked  development  than  flowers  of 
any  other  primary  color  suggest;  and  the  high 
cost  of  the  tint  is  perhaps  hinted  by  the  inability 
of  the  horticulturist  to  produce  blue  roses  or  blue 
chrysanthemums.  Vivid  blue  appears  in  the 
plumage  of  some  wonderful  birds,  and  on  the 
wings  of  certain  amazing  butterflies  —  especially 
tropical  butterflies ;  —  but  usually  under  condi 
tions  that  intimate  a  prodigious  period  of  evolu 
tional  specialization.  Altogether  it  would  seem 
that  blue  was  the  latest  pure  color  developed  in 
the  evolution  of  flower  and  scale  and  feather ;  and 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  power  of  per 
ceiving  blue  was  not  acquired  until  after  the  power 


228     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

of  distinguishing  red  and  green  and  yellow  had 
already  been  gained. 

Whether  the  hypothesis  be  true  or  false,  it  is 
certainly  noteworthy  that,  of  the  primary  colors, 
blue  alone  has  remained,  up  to  the  present  time, 
a  color  pleasurable  in  its  purest  intensity  to  the 
vision  of  highly  civilized  races.  Bright  red,  bright 
green,  bright  orange,  yellow,  or  violet,  can  be 
used  but  sparingly  incur  nineteenth -century  attire 
and  decoration.  They  have  become  offensive  in 
their  spectral  purity  because  of  the  violence  of  the 
sensations  that  they  give;  —  they  remain  grate 
ful  only  to  the  rudimentary  aesthetic  feeling  of 
children,  of  the  totally  uncultivated,  or  of  savages. 
What  modern  beauty  clothes  herself  in  scarlet, 
or  robes  herself  in  fairy  green  ?  We  cannot  paint 
our  chambers  violet  or  saffron  —  the  mere  idea 
jars  upon  our  nerves.  But  the  color  of  heaven 
has  not  ceased  to  delight  us.  Sky-blue  can  still 
be  worn  by  our  fairest ;  and  the  luminous  charm 
of  azure  ceilings  and  azure  wall-surfaces  —  under 
certain  conditions  of  lighting  and  dimension  —  is 
still  recognized. 

"  Nevertheless,"  some  one  may  say,  "  we  do 
not  paint  the  outside  of  a  building  skyblue ;  and 
a  skyblue  facade  would  be  even  more  disagree- 


Azure  Psychology  229 

able  than  an  orange  or  a  crimson  fagade."  This 
is  true,— but  not  because  the  effect  of  the  color 
upon  large  surfaces  is  necessarily  displeasing.  It 
is  true  only  because  vivid  blue,  unlike  other 
bright  colors,  is  never  associated  in  our  experience 
of  nature  with  large  and  opaque  solidity.  When 
mountains  become  blue  for  us,  they  also  become 
ghostly  and  semi-transparent.  Upon  a  housefront 
the  color  must  appear  monstrous,  because  giving 
the  notion  of  the  unnatural,  —  of  a  huge  blue 
dead  solidity  tangibly  proximate.  But  a  blue 
ceiling,  a  blue  vault,  blue  walls  of  corridors,  may 
suggest  the  true  relation  of  the  color  to  depth  and 
transparency,  and  make  for  us  a  grateful  illusion 
of  space  and  summer-light.  Yellow,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  a  color  well  adapted  to  facades,  because 
associated  in  memory  with  the  beautiful  effect  of 
dying  sunlight  over  pale  broad  surfaces. 

But  although  yellow  remains,  after  blue,  the 
most  agreeable  of  the  primary  colors,  it  cannot 
often  be  used  for  artistic  purposes,  like  blue,  in 
all  its  luminous  strength.  Pale  tones  of  yellow,  — 
especially  creamy  tones,  —  are  capable  of  an  im 
mense  variety  of  artistic  employment ;  but  this  is 
not  true  of  the  brilliant  and  burning  yellow. 
Only  blue  is  always  agreeable  in  its  most  vivid 


2}0     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

purity — providing  that  it  be  not  used  in  massive 
displays  so  as  to  suggest  the  anomaly  of  blue 
hardness  and  blue  opacity.1 

In  Japan,  which  may  still  be  called  the  land  of 
perfect  good  taste  in  chromatics  —  notwithstand 
ing  the  temporary  apparition  of  some  discords 
due  to  Western  influence,  —  almost  any  ordinary 
street-vista  tells  the  story  of  the  race-experience 
with  color.  The  general  tone  of  the  vista  is 
given  by  bluish  greys  above  and  dark  blues  be 
low,  sharply  relieved  by  numerous  small  details  of 
white  and  cool  yellow.  In  this  perspective  the 
bluish-greys  represent  the  tiling  of  roofs  and 
awnings ;  the  dark  blues,  shop-draperies ;  the 
bright  whites,  narrow  strips  of  plastered  sur 
face  ;  the  pale  yellows,  mostly  smooth  naked 
wood,  and  glimpses  of  rush -mattings.  The 
broader  stretches  of  color  are  furthermore  relieved 
and  softened  by  the  sprinkling  of  countless  ideo 
graphs  over  draperies  and  shop-signs  —  black, 
(and  sometimes  red)  against  white;  white  or 

1  Blue  jewels,  blue  eyes,  blue  flowers  delight  us ;  but  in 
these  the  color  accompanies  either  transparency  or  visible 
softness.  It  is  perhaps  because  of  the  incongruity  between 
hard  opacity  and  blue  that  the  sight  of  a  book  in  sky-blue 
binding  is  unendurable.  I  can  imagine  nothing  more 
atrocious. 


Azure  Psychology  231 

gold  on  blue.  Strong  yellows,  greens,  oranges, 
purples  are  invisible.  In  dress  also  greys  and 
cool  blues  rule:  when  you  do  happen  to  see 
robes  or  bakama  all  of  one  brilliant  color, — 
worn  by  children  or  young  girls,  —  that  color  is 
either  a  sky-blue,  or  a  violet  with  only  just  enough 
red  in  it  to  kindle  the  azure,  —  a  rainbow-violet 
of  exquisite  luminosity.1 


II 


But  I  wish  to  speak  neither  of  the  aesthetic 
value  of  blue  in  relation  to  arts  and  industries, 
nor  of  the  optical  significance  of  blue  as  the  pro 
duct  of  six  hundred  and  fifty  billion  oscillations 
of  the  luminous  ether  per  second.  I  only  want 
to  say  something  about  the  psychology  of  the 
color,  —  about  its  subjective  evolutional  history. 

Certainly  the  same  apparition  of  blue,  will  bestir 

1  This  essay  was  written  several  years  ago.  During 
180?  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  since  my  arrival  in  Japan 
a  sprinkling  of  dark  greens  and  light-yellows  in  the  fashions 
of  the  season ;  but  the  general  tone  of  costume  was  little 
affected  by  these  exceptions  to  older  taste.  The  light- 
yellow  appeared  only  in  some  girdles  of  children. 


232     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

in  different  minds  different  degrees  of  feeling,  and 
will  set  in  motion,  through  memory -revival  of 
unlike  experiences,  totally  dissimilar  operations  of 
fancy.  But  independently  of  such  psychological 
variation  -j-  mainly  personal  and  superficial,  — 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  color  evokes  in 
the  general  mind  one  common  quality  of  plea 
surable  feeling,  —  a  vivacious  thrill,  —  a  tone  of 
emotional  activity  unmistakably  related  to  the 
higher  zones  of  sentiency  and  of  imagination. 

In  my  own  case  the  sight  of  vivid  blue  has 
always  been  accompanied  by  an  emotion  of  vague 
delight — more  or  less  strong  according  to  the 
luminous  intensity  of  the  color.  And  in  one 
experience  of  travel,  —  sailing  to  the  American 
tropics,  —  this  feeling  rose  into  ecstasy.  It  was 
when  I  beheld  for  the  first  time  the  grandest 
vision  of  blue  in  this  world,  —  the  glory  of  the 
Gulf-Stream :  a  magical  splendor  that  made  me 
doubt  my  senses,  —  a  flaming  azure  that  looked 
as  if  a  million  summer  skies  had  been  condensed 
into  pure  fluid  color  for  the  making  of  it.  The 
captain  of  the  ship  leaned  over  the  rail  with  me  ; 
and  we  both  watched  the  marvellous  sea  for  a 
long  time  in  silence.  Then  he  said :  — 


Azure  Psychology  233 

"  Fifteen  years  ago  I  took  my  wife  with  me  on 
this  trip  —  just  after  we  were  married,  it  was ;  — 
and  she  wondered  at  the  water.  She  asked  me  to 
get  her  a  silk  dress  of  the  very  same  color.  I 
tried  in  ever  so  many  places ;  but  I  never  could 
get  just  what  she  wanted  till  a  chance  took  me 
to  Canton.  I  went  round  the  Chinese  silk -shops 
day  after  day,  looking  for  that  color.  It  was  n't 
easy  to  find ;  but  I  did  get  it  at  last.  Was  n't 
she  glad,  though,  when  I  brought  it  home  to  her ! 
...  She 's  got  it  yet.  .  .  ." 

Still,  at  times,  in  sleep,  I  sail  southward  again 
over  the  wonder  of  that  dazzling  surging  azure ; 
—  then  the  dream  shifts  suddenly  across  the 
world,  and  I  am  wandering  with  the  Captain 
through  close  dim  queer  Chinese  streets,  —  vainly 
seeking  a  silk  of  the  Blue  of  the  Gulf-Stream. 
And  it  was  this  memory  of  tropic  days  that  first 
impelled  me  to  think  about  the  reason  of  the 
delight  inspired  by  the  color.* 


234     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 


11! 


Possibly  the  wave  of  pleasurable  emotion  ex 
cited  by  a  glorious  vision  of  blue  is  not  more  com 
plex  than  the  feeling  aroused  by  any  massive 
display  of  any  other  pure  color ;  —  but  it  is 
higher  in  the  quality  of  its  complexity.  For  the 
ideational  elements  that  blend  in  the  volume  of  it 
include  not  a  few  of  the  noblest,  —  not  a  few  of 
those  which  also  enter  into  the  making  of  Cosmic 
Emotion. 

Being  the  seeming  color  of  the  ghost  of  our 
planet,  —  of  the  breath  of  the  life  of  the  world,  — 
blue  is  likewise  the  color  apparent  of  the  enormity 
of  day  and  the  abyss  of  the  night.  So  the  sen 
sation  of  it  makes  appeal  to  the  ideas  of  Altitude, 
of  Vastness,  and  of  Profundity ;  — 

Also  to  the  idea  of  Space  in  Time ;  for  blue  is 
the  tint  of  distance  and  of  vagueness ;  — 

Also  to  the  idea  of  Motion;  for  blue  is  the 
color  of  Vanishing  and  of  Apparition.  Peak  and 
vale,  bay  and  promontory,  turn  blue  as  we  leave 
them;  and  out  of  blue  they  grow  and  define 
again  as  we  glide  homeward. 


Azure  Psychology  23  !> 

And  therefore  in  the  volume  of  feeling  awak 
ened  in  us  by  the  sensation  of  blue,  there  should 
be  something  of  the  emotion  associated  with  ex 
perience  of  change,  —  with  countless  ancestral 
sorrows  of  parting.  But  if  there  indeed  be  any 
such  dim  survival,  it  is  utterly  whelmed  and  lost 
in  that  all-radiant  emotional  inheritance  related 
to  Summer  and  Warmth,  —  to  the  joy  of  past 
humanity  in  the  light  of  cloudless  days. 

Still  more  significant  is  the  fact  that  although 
blue  is  a  sacred  color,  the  dominant  tones  of  the 
feeling  it  evokes  are  gladness  and  tenderness. 
Blue  speaks  to  us  of  the  dead  and  of  the  gods, 
but  never  of  their  awfulness. 

Now  when  we  reflect  that  blue  is  the  color  of 
the  idea  of  the  divine,  the  color  pantheistic,  the 
color  ethical,  —  thrilling  most  deeply  into  those 
structures  of  thought  to  which  belong  our  senti 
ments  of  reverence  and  justice,  of  duty  and  of 
aspiration,  —  we  may  wonder  why  the  emotion  it 
calls  up  should  be  supremely  gladsome.  Is  it  be 
cause  that  sensuous  race-experience  of  blue  skies, 
—  that  measureless  joy  of  the  dead  in  light  and 
warmth,  which  has  been  transmitted  to  each  of  us 
in  organic  memory,  —  is  vastly  older  than  the 


236     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

religious  idea,  and  therefore  voluminous  enough 
to  drown  any  ethical  feeling  indirectly  related  to 
the  color-sensation  ?  Partly  so,  no  doubt ;  —  but 
I  will  venture  another,  and  a  very  simple  ex 
planation  :  — 

All  moral  pulsations  in  the  wave  of  inherited 
feeling  which  responds  to  the  impression  of  blue, 
belong  only  to  the  beautiful  and  tender  aspects 
of  faith. 

And  thus  much  having  been  ventured,  I  may 
presume  a  little  further. 

I  imagine  that  for  many  of  us  one  of  the  most 
powerful  elements  in  this  billow  of  pleasurable 
feeling  evoked  by  the  vision  of  blue,  is  spiritual, 
in  the  fullest  ethical  meaning  of  the  word  ;  — that 
under  the  fleeting  surf  ace -plexus  of  personal  emo 
tion  empirically  associated  with  the  color,  pulses 
like  a  tide  the  transmitted  religious  emotion  of 
unnumbered  ages;  —  and  that,  quickening  and 
vivifying  all  inherited  sense  of  blue  as  beauty,  is 
the  inherited  lucent  rapture  of  blue  as  the  splendor 
mystical,  —  as  the  color  of  the  everlasting  Peace. 
Something  of  all  human  longing  for  all  the  Para- 
dises  ever  imagined,  — of  all  pre-existent  trust  in 
the  promise  of  reunion  after  death,  —  of  all  ex- 


Azure  Psychology  237 

pired  dreams  of  unending  youth  and  bliss,  —  may 
be  revived  for  us,  more  or  less  faintly,  in  this 
thrill  of  the  delight  of  azure.  Even  as  through 
the  jewel- radiance  of  the  Tropic  Stream  pass  un 
dulations  from  the  vaster  deep,  —  with  their  sob 
bings  and  whisperings,  their  fugitive  drift  and 
foam,  —  so,  through  the  emotion  evoked  by  the 
vision  of  luminous  blue,  there  may  somehow 
quiver  back  to  us  out  of  the  Infinite  —  (multitu 
dinous  like  the  billion  ether-shiverings  that  make 
the  blue  sensation  of  a  moment)  —  something  of 
all  the  aspirations  of  the  ancient  faiths,  and  the 
power  of  the  vanished  gods,  and  the  passion  and 
the  beauty  of  all  the  prayer  ever  uttered  by  lips 
of  man. 


A  Serenade 


A  Serenade 


i 

BROKEN  "  were  too  abrupt  a  word.    My 
sleep  was  not  broken,  but  suddenly 
melted  and  swept  away  by  a  flow  of 
music  from  the  night  without,  —  music  that  filled 
me  with  expectant  ecstasy  by  the  very  first  gush 
of  its  sweetness :  a  serenade,  —  a  playing  of  flutes 
and  mandolines. 

The  flutes  had  dove-tones ;  and  they  cooed 
and  moaned  and  purled ;  —  and  the  mandolines 
throbbed  through  the  liquid  plaint  of  them,  like 
a  beating  of  hearts.  The  players  I  could  not 
see :  they  were  standing  in  heavy  shadows  flung 
into  the  street  by  a  tropical  moon,  —  shadows  of 
plantain  and  of  tamarind. 

Nothing  in  all  the  violet  gloom  moved  but 

that  music,  and  the  fire-flies,  —  great  bright  slow 

sparks  of  orange  and  of  emerald.    The  warm  air 

held  its  breath;  the  plumes  of  the  palms  were 

16 


242     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

still ;  and  the  haunting  circle  of  the  sea,  blue  even 
beneath  the  moon,  lay  soundless  as  a  circle  of 
vapor. 

Flutes  and  mandolines  —  a  Spanish  melody  — 
nothing  more.  Yet  it  seemed  as  if  the  night  it 
self  were  speaking,  or,  out  of  the  night  some  pas 
sional  life  long  since  melted  into  Nature's  mystery, 
but  continuing  to  haunt  the  tepid,  odorous,  spark 
ling  darkness  of  that  strange  world,  which  sleeps 
under  the  sun,  and  wakens  only  to  the  stars. 
And  its  utterance  was  the  ghostly  reiteration  of 
rapture  that  had  been,  and  never  again  could  be, 
—  an  utterance  of  infinite  tenderness  and  of  im 
measurable  regret. 

Never  before  had  I  felt  how  the  simplest  of 
music  could  express  what  no  other  art  is  able  even 
to  suggest ;  —  never  before  had  I  known  the  as 
tonishing  possibilities  of  melody  without  orna 
ment,  without  artifice, — yet  with  a  charm  as 
bewildering,  as  inapprehensible,  as  the  Greek 
perception  of  the  grace  supreme. 

Now  nothing  in  perfect  art  can  be  only  volup 
tuous;  and  this  music,  in  despite  of  its  caress, 
was  immeasurably,  ineffably  sad.  And  the  exqui 
site  blending  of  melancholy  with  passion  in  a 


A  Serenade  243 

motive  so  simple,  —one  low  long  cooing  motive, 
over  and  over  again  repeated,  like  a  dove's  cry, 
—  had  a  strangeness  of  beauty  like  the  musical 
thought  of  a  vanished  time,  —  one  rare  survival, 
out  of  an  era  more  warmly  human  than  our  own, 
of  some  lost  art  of  melody. 


II 


The  music  hushed,  and  left  me  dreaming,  and 
vainly  trying  to  explain  the  emotion  that  it  had 
made.  Of  one  thing  only  I  felt  assured,  —  that 
the  mystery  was  of  other  existences  than  mine. 

For  the  living  present,  I  reflected,  is  the  whole 
dead  past.  Our  pleasures  and  our  pains  alike 
are  but  products  of  evolution,  —  vast  complexities 
of  sentiency  created  by  experience  of  vanished 
beings  more  countless  than  the  sands  of  a  myriad 
seas.  All  personality  is  recombination;  and  all 
emotions  are  of  the  dead.  Yet  some  seem  to  us 
more  ghostly  than  others,  —  partly  because  of 
their  greater  relative  mystery,  partly  because  of 
the  immense  power  of  the  phantom  waves  com 
posing  them.  Among  pleasurable  forms,  the 
ghostliest  are  the  emotion  of  first  love,  the  emo- 


244     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

tion  following  the  perception  of  the  sublime  in 
nature  —  of  terrible  beauty,  —  and  the  emotion 
of  music.  Why  should  they  so  be  ?  Probably 
because  the  influences  that  arouse  them  thrill 
furthest  into  our  forgotten  past.  Frightful  as  the 
depth  of  the  abyss  of  Space  is  the  depth  of  one 
thinking  life,  —  measureless  even  by  millions  of 
ages ;  —  and  who  may  divine  how  profoundly  in 
certain  personalities  the  mystery  can  be  moved. 
We  only  know  that  the  deeper  the  thrilling,  the 
heavier  the  wave  responding,  and  the  weirder  the 
result,  —  until  those  profundities  are  reached  of 
which  a  single  surge  brings  instant  death,  or 
makes  perpetual  ruin  of  the  delicate  structures 
of  thought. 

Now  any  music  that  makes  powerful  appeal 
to  the  emotion  of  love,  awakening  the  passional 
latency  of  the  past  within  us,  must,  inevitably 
revive  dead  pain  not  less  than  dead  delight.  Pain 
of  the  conquest  of  will  by  a  mystery  resistless  and 
pitiless,  the  torture  of  doubt,  the  pangs  of  rivalry, 
the  terror  of  impermanency,  —  shadows  of  these 
and  many  another  sorrow  have  had  their  part  in 
the  toning  of  that  psychical  inheritance  which 
makes  at  once  love's  joy  and  love's  anguish,  and 
grows  forever  from  birth  to  birth. 


A  Serenade  24£ 

And  thus  it  may  happen  that  a  child,  innocent 
of  passion  or  of  real  pain,  is  moved  even  to  tears 
by  music  uttering  either.  Unknowingly  he  feels 
in  that  utterance  a  shadowing  of  the  sorrow  of 
numberless  vanished  lives. 


Ill 


But  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  extraordinary 
emotion  awakened  by  that  tropical  melody  needed 
an  explanation  more  qualitative  than  the  explana 
tion  above  attempted.  I  felt  sure  that  the  dead 
past  to  which  the  music  had  made  appeal  must 
have  been  a  special  past,  —  that  some  particular 
class  or  group  of  emotional  memories  had  been 
touched.  Yet  what  class  ?  —  what  group?  For 
the  time  being,  I  could  not  even  venture  a  guess. 

Long  afterwards,  however,  some  chance  hap 
pening  revived  for  me  with  surprising  distinctness 
the  memory  of  the  serenade;  —  and  simulta 
neously,  like  a  revelation,  came  the  certainty  that 
the  whole  spell  of  the  melody  —  all  its  sadness 
and  all  its  sweetness  —  had  been  supremely  and 
uniquely  feminine. 


246     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

—  "  Assuredly,"  I  reflected,  as  the  new  convic 
tion  grew  upon  me,  "  the  primal  source  of  all 
human  tenderness  has  been  the  Eternal  Feminine. 
...  Yet  how  should  melody  uttering  only  the 
soul  of  woman  have  been  composed  by  man, 
and  bestir  within  man  this  innominable  quicken 
ing  of  emotional  reminiscence?" 

The  answer  shaped  itself  at  once,  — 

—  "  Every  mortal  man  has  been  many  millions 
of  times  a  woman." 

Undoubtedly  in  either  sex  survives  the  sum  of 
the  feelings  and  of  the  memories  of  both.  But 
some  rare  experience  may  appeal  at  times  to  the 
feminine  element  of  personality  alone,  —  to  one 
half  only  of  the  phantom-world  of  Self,  —  leav 
ing  the  other  hemisphere  dormant  and  unillumed. 
And  such  experience  had  found  embodiment  in 
the  marvellous  melody  of  the  serenade  which  I 
had  heard. 

That  tremulous  sweetness  was  never  masculine ; 
that  passional  sadness  never  was  of  man :  —  uni 
sexual  both  and  inseparably  blended  into  a  single 
miracle  of  tone -beauty.  Echoing  far  into  the 
mystery  of  my  own  past,  the  enchantment  of  that 
tone  had  startled  from  their  sleep  of  ages  count- 


A  Serenade  247 

less  buried  loves,  and  set  the  whole  delicate  swarm 
fluttering  in  some  delicious  filmy  agony  of  revival, 
— set  them  streaming  and  palpitating  through  the 
Night  of  Time,  —  like  those  myriads  eddying 
forever  through  the  gloom  of  the  vision  of  Dante. 

They  died  with  the  music  and  the  moon,  —  but 
not  utterly.  Whenever  in  dream  the  memory  of 
that  melody  returns,  again  I  feel  the  long  soft 
shuddering  of  the  dead,  —  again  I  feel  the  faint 
wings  spread  and  thrill,  responsive  to  the  cooing 
of  those  spectral  flutes,  to  the  throbbing  of  those 
shadowy  mandolines.  And  the  elfish  ecstasy  of 
their  thronging  awakes  me;  but  always  with 
my  wakening  the  delight  passes,  and  in  the 
dark  the  sadness  only  lingers,  —  unutterable,  — 
infinite.  .  .  ! 


A  Red  Sunset 


A  Red  Sunset 


i 

THE  most  stupendous  apparition  of  red  that  I 
ever  saw  was  a  tropical  sunset  in  a  cloud 
less  sky,  —  a  sunset  such  as  can  be  wit- 
nessed  only  during  exceptional  conditions  of 
atmosphere.  It  began  with  a  flaming  of  orange 
from  horizon  to  zenith  ;  and  this  quickly  deepened 
to  a  fervid  vermilion,  through  which  the  crimson 
disk  glared  like  the  cinder  of  a  burnt-out  star. 
Sea,  peak,  and  palm  caught  the  infernal  glow ; 
and  1  became  conscious  of  a  vague  strange  horror 
within  myself,  —  a  sense  of  distress  like  that 
which  precedes  a  nightmare.  I  could  not  then 
explain  the  feeling ;  —  I  only  knew  that  the  color 
had  aroused  it. 

But  how  aroused  it  ?  —  I  later  asked  myself. 
Common  theories  about  the  ugly  sensation  of 
bright  red  could  not  explain  for  me  the  weirdness 


2^2     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

of  that  experience.  As  for  the  sanguine  associa 
tions  of  the  color,  they  could  interpret  little  in 
my  case ;  for  the  sight  of  blood  had  never  affected 
my  nerves  in  the  least.  I  thought  that  the  theory 
of  psychical  inheritance  might  furnish  some  expla 
nation  ;  —  but  how  could  it  meet  the  fact  that  a 
color,  which  the  adult  finds  insufferable,  continues 
to  delight  the  child? 

All  ruddy  tones,  however,  are  not  unpleasant 
to  refined  sensibility :  some  are  quite  the  reverse, 
—  as,  for  example,  the  various  tender  colors  called 
pink  or  rose.  These  appeal  to  very  agreeable 
kinds  of  sensuous  experience :  they  suggest  deli 
cacy  and  softness  ;  they  awaken  qualities  of 
feeling  totally  different  from  those  excited  by 
vermilion  or  scarlet.  Pink,  being  the  tint  of  the 
blossoming  of  flowers  and  the  blossoming  of 
youth,  —  of  the  ripeness  of  fruit  and  the  ripe 
ness  of  flesh,  is  ever  associated  with  impressions 
of  fragrance  and  sweetness,  and  with  memories 
of  beautiful  lips  and  cheeks. 

No  :  it  is  only  the  pure  brilliant  red,  the  fervid 
red,  that  arouses  sinister  feeling.  Experience  with 
this  color  seems  to  have  been  the  same  even  in 
societies  evolved  under  conditions  utterly  unlike 
those  of  our  own  history,  —  Japan  being  a  signifi- 


A  Red  Sunset 

cant  example.  The  more  refined  and  humane  a 
civilization  becomes,  the  less  are  displays  of  the 
color  tolerated  in  its  cultivated  circles.  But  how 
are  we  to  account  for  that  pleasure  which  bright 
red  still  gives  to  the  children  of  the  people  who 
detest  it  ? 


II 

Many  sensations  which  delighted  us  as  children, 
prove  to.  us  either  insipid  or  offensive  in  adult  life. 
Why  ?  Because  there  have  grown  up  with  our 
growth  feelings  which,  though  now  related  to 
them,  were  dormant  during  childhood  ;  ideas 
now  associated  with  them,  but  undeveloped  dur 
ing  childhood ;  and  experiences  connected  with 
them,  never  imagined  in  childhood. 

For  the  mind,  at  our  birth,  is  even  less  devel 
oped  than  the  body ;  and  its  full  ripening  demands 
very  much  more  time  than  is  needed  for  the  per 
fect  bodily  growth.  Both  by  his  faults  and  by 
his  virtues  the  child  resembles  the  savage,  because 
the  instincts  and  the  emotions  of  the  primitive  man 
are  the  first  to  mature  within  him ;  —  and  they 
are  the  first  to  mature  in  the  individual  because 
they  were  the  first  evolved  in  the  history  of  the 


2">4     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

race,  being  the  most  necessary  to  self -maintenance. 
That  in  later  adult  life  they  take  a  very  inferior 
place  is  because  the  nobler  mental  and  moral 
qualities  —  comparatively  recent  products  of  social 
discipline  and  civilized  habit  —  have  at  last  gained 
massiveness  enough  to  dominate  them  under 
normal  conditions ;  —  have  become  like  powerful 
new  senses  upon  which  the  primitive  emotional 
nature  learns  to  depend  for  guidance. 

All  emotions  are  inheritances ;  but  the  higher, 
because  in  evolutional  order  the  latest,  develop 
only  with  the  complete  unfolding  of  the  brain. 
Some,  ethically  considered  the  very  loftiest,  are 
said  to  develop  only  in  old  age,  —  to  which  they 
impart  a  particular  charm.  Other  faculties  also 
of  a  high  order,  chiefly  aesthetic,  would  seem  in 
the  average  of  cases  to  mature  in  middle  life. 
And  to  this  period  of  personal  evolution  probably 
belongs  the  finer  sense  of  beauty  in  color,  —  a 
much  simpler  faculty  than  the  ethical  sense, 
though  possibly  related  to  it  in  ways  unsuspected. 

Vivid  colors  appeal  to  the  rudimentary  aesthetic 
sense  of  our  children,  as  they  do  to  the  aesthetic 
sense  of  savages;  but  the  civilized  adult  dis 
likes  most  of  the  very  vivid  colors :  they  exasper 
ate  his  nerves  like  an  excessive  crash  of  brass  and 


A  Red  Sunset 

drums  during  a  cheap  orchestral  performance. 
Cultured  vision  especially  shrinks  from  a  strong 
blaze  of  red.  Only  the  child  delights  in  vermil 
ion  and  scarlet.  Growing  up  he  gradually  learns 
to  think  of  what  we  call  "  loud  red  "  as  vulgar, 
and  to  dislike  it  much  more  than  did  his  less  deli 
cate  ancestors  of  the  preceding  century.  Educa 
tion  helps  him  to  explain  why  he  thinks  it  vulgar, 
but  not  to  explain  why  he  feels  it  to  be  unpleas 
ant,  —  independently  of  the  question  whether  it 
tires  his  eyes. 


Ill 


And  now  1  come  back  to  the  subject  of  that 
tropical  sunset. 

Even  in  the  common  aesthetic  emotion  excited 
by  the  spectacle  of  any  fine  sunset,  there  are  ele 
ments  of  feeling  ancient  as  the  race,  —  dim  mel 
ancholy,  dim  fear,  inherited  from  ages  when  the 
dying  of  the  day  was  ever  watched  with  sadness 
and  foreboding.  After  that  mighty  glow,  the 
hours  of  primeval  horror,  —  the  fear  of  black 
ness,  the  fear  of  nocturnal  foes,  the  fear  of 
ghosts.  These,  and  other  weird  feelings,  —  in 
dependently  of  the  physical  depression  following 


Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  withdrawal  of  sunlight,  —  would  by  inheri- 
tance  become  emotionally  related  to  visions  of 
sundown ;  and  the  primitive  horror  would  at  last 
be  evolutionally  transmuted  to  one  elemental  tone 
of  the  modern  sublime.  But  the  spectacle  of  a 
vast  crimson  sunset  would  awaken  feelings  less 
vague  than  the  sense  of  the  sublime,  —  feel 
ings  of  a  definitely  sinister  kind.  The  very 
color  itself  would  make  appeal  to  special  kinds 
of  inherited  feelings,  simply  because  of  its  rela 
tion  to  awful  spectacles, — the  glare  of  the  vol 
cano-summit,  the  furious  vermilion  of  lava,  the 
raging  of  forest-fires,  the  overglow  of  cities  kind 
ling  in  the  track  of  war,  the  smouldering  of  ruin, 
the  blazing  of  funeral-pyres.  And  in  this  lurid 
race-memory  of  fire  as  destroyer,  —  as  the  "  raven 
ing  ghost"  of  Northern  fancy,  —  there  would 
mingle  a  vague  distress  evolved  through  ances 
tral  experience  of  crimson  heat  in  relation  to 
pain,  —  an  organic  horror.  And  the  like  tre 
mendous  color  in  celestial  phenomena  would  re 
vive  also  inherited  terror  related  of  old  to  ideas 
of  the  portentous  and  of  the  wrath  of  gods. 

Probably  the  largest  element  of  the  unpleasant 
feeling  aroused  in  man  by  this  angry  color  has 


A  Red  Sunset 

been  made  by  the  experience  of  the  race  with 
fire.  But  in  even  the  most  vivid  red  there  is 
always  some  suggestion  of  passion,  and  of  the 
tint  of  blood.  Inherited  emotion  related  to  the 
sight  of  death  must  be  counted  among  the  ele 
ments  of  the  sinister  feeling  that  the  hue  excites. 
Doubtless  for  the  man,  as  for  the  bull,  the  emo 
tional  wave  called  up  by  displays  of  violent  red, 
is  mostly  the  creation  of  impressions  and  of  ten 
dencies  accumulated  through  all  the  immense  life 
of  the  race  ;  and,  as  in  the  old  story  of  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  we  can  say  of  our  only  real  Fairy 
land,  our  ghostly  past,  — 

.  .  .  "  A'  the  blude  that 's  shed  on  earth 
Rins  through  the  springs  o'  that  Countrie." 

But  those  very  associations  that  make  burning 
red  unbearable  to  modern  nerves  must  have 
already  been  enormously  old  when  it  first  became 
the  color  of  pomp  and  luxury.  How  then  should 
such  associations  affect  us  unpleasantly  now  ? 

I  would  answer  that  the  emotional  suggestions 
of  the  color  continued  to  be  pleasurable  for  the 
adult,  as  they  still  are  for  the  child,  only  while 
they  remained  more  vague  and  much  less  volu 
minous  than  at  present.  Becoming  intensified  in 
'7 


2  £8     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  modern  brain,  they  gradually  ceased  to  yield 
pleasure,  —  somewhat  as  warmth  increased  to  the 
degree  of  heat  ceases  to  be  pleasurable.  Still  later 
they  became  painful ;  and  their  actual  painfulness 
exposes  the  fundamentally  savage  nature  of  those 
sensations  of  splendor  and  power  which  the  color 
once  called  into  play.  And  the  intensification 
of  the  feeling  evoked  by  red  has  not  been  due 
merely  to  later  accumulation  of  inherited  impres 
sions,  but  also  to  the  growth  and  development  of 
emotions  essentially  antithetical  to  ideas  of  violence 
and  pain,  and  yet  inseparable  from  them.  The 
moral  sensibility  of  an  era  that  has  condemned 
not  a  few  of  the  amusements  of  our  forebears  to 
the  limbo  of  old  barbarities,  —  the  humanity  of 
an  age  that  refuses  to  believe  in  a  hell  of  literal 
fire,  that  prohibits  every  brutal  sport,  that  com 
pels  kindness  to  animals,  —  is  offended  by  the 
cruel  suggestiveness  of  the  color.  But  within  the 
slowly-unfolding  brain  of  the  child,  this  modern 
sensibility  is  not  evolved  ;  —  and  until  it  has  been 
evolved,  with  the  aid  of  experience  and  of  educa 
tion,  the  feeling  aroused  by  such  a  color  as  vivid 
scarlet  will  naturally  continue  to  be  pleasurable 
rather  than  painful. 


A  Red  Sunset  259 


IV 

While  thus  trying  to  explain  why  a  color  dig 
nified  as  imperial  in  other  centuries  should  have 
become  offensive  in  our  own,  I  found  myself 
wondering  whether  most  of  our  actual  refinements 
might  not  in  like  manner  become  the  vulgarities 
of  a  future  age.  Our  standards  of  taste  and  our 
ideals  of  beauty  can  have  only  a  value  relative  to 
conditions  which  are  constantly  changing.  Real 
and  ideal  alike  are  transitory,  —  mere  apparitional 
undulations  in  the  flux  of  the  perpetual  Becoming. 
Perhaps  the  finest  ethical  or  aesthetical  sentiment 
of  to-day  will  manifest  itself  in  another  era  only 
as  some  extraordinary  psychological  atavism, — 
some  rare  individual  reversion  to  the  conditions 
of  a  barbarous  past. 

What  in  the  meantime  would  be  the  fate  of 
sensations  that  are  even  now  becoming  intoler 
able  ?  Any  faculty,  mental  or  physical,  however 
previously  developed  by  evolutional  necessities, 
would  have  a  tendency  to  dwindle  and  disappear 
from  the  moment  that  it  ceased  to  be  either  use 
ful  or  pleasurable.  Continuance  of  the  power  to 
perceive  red  would  depend  upon  the  possible 


260     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

future  usefulness  of  that  power  to  the  race.  Not 
without  suggestiveness  in  this  connection  may  be 
the  fact  that  it  represents  the  lowest  rate  of  those 
ether-oscillations  which  produce  color.  Perhaps 
our  increasing  dislike  to  it  indicates  that  power  to 
distinguish  it  will  eventually  pass  away  —  pass 
away  in  a  sort  of  Daltonism  at  the  inferior  end 
of  the  color-scale.  Such  visual  loss  would  prob 
ably  be  more  than  compensated  by  superior  co 
incident  specializations  of  retinal  sensibility.  A 
more  highly  organized  generation  might  enjoy 
wonders  of  color  now  unimaginable,  and  yet 
never  be  able  to  perceive  red,  —  not,  at  least,  that 
red  whose  sensation  is  the  spectral  smouldering 
of  the  agonies  and  the  furies  of  our  evolutional 
past,  —  the  haunting  of  a  horror  innominable, 
immeasurable,  —  enormous  phantom -menace  of 
expired  human  pain. 


Frisson 


Frisson 


SOME  there  may  be  who  have  never  felt  the 
thrill  of  a  human  touch  ;  but  surely  these 
are  few!  Most  of  us  in  early  childhood 
discover  strange  differences  in  physical  contact; 
—  we  find  that  some  caresses  soothe,  while  others 
irritate  ;  and  we  form  in  consequence  various  un 
reasoning  likes  and  antipathies.  With  the  ripen 
ing  of  youth  we  seem  to  feel  these  distinctions 
more  and  more  keenly,  —  until  the  fateful  day 
in  which  we  learn  that  a  certain  feminine  touch 
communicates  an  unspeakable  shiver  of  de 
light,  —  exercises  a  witchcraft  that  we  try  to 
account  for  by  theories  of  the  occult  and  the 
supernatural.  Age  may  smile  at  these  magical 
fancies  of  youth;  and  nevertheless,  in  spite  of 
much  science,  the  imagination  of  the  lover  is 
probably  nearer  to  truth  than  is  the  wisdom  of 
the  disillusioned. 


264     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

We  seldom  permit  ourselves  in  mature  life  to 
think  very  seriously  about  such  experiences.  We 
do  not  deny  them ;  but  we  incline  to  regard  them 
as  nervous  idiosyncrasies.  We  scarcely  notice 
that  even  in  the  daily  act  of  shaking  hands  with 
persons  of  either  sex,  sensations  may  be  received 
which  no  physiology  can  explain. 

I  remember  the  touch  of  many  hands,  —  the 
quality  of  each  clasp,  the  sense  of  physical  sym 
pathy  or  repulsion  aroused.  Thousands  1  have 
indeed  forgotten,  —  probably  because  their  con 
tact  told  me  nothing  in  particular ;  but  the  strong 
experiences  I  fully  recollect.  1  found  that  their 
agreeable  or  disagreeable  character  was  often  quite 
independent  of  the  moral  relation:  but  in  the 
most  extraordinary  case  that  I  can  recall  —  (a 
strangely  fascinating  personality  with  the  strangest 
of  careers  as  poet,  soldier,  and  refugee)  —  the 
moral  and  the  physical  charm  were  equally 
powerful  and  equally  rare.  "  Whenever  I  shake 
hands  with  that  man,"  said  to  me  one  of  many 
who  had  yielded  to  his  spell,  "  I  feel  a  warm 
shock  go  all  through  me,  like  a  glow  of  sum 
mer."  Even  at  this  moment  when  I  think  of 
that  dead  hand,  I  can  feel  it  reached  out  to  me 
over  the  space  of  twenty  years  and  of  many 


Frisson  265 

a  thousand  miles.    Yet  it  was  a  hand  that  had 
killed.  .  .  . 

These,  with  other  memories  and  reflections, 
came  to  me  just  after  reading  a  criticism  on  Mr. 
Bain's  evolutional  interpretation  of  the  thrill  of 
pleasure  sometimes  given  by  the  touch  of  the 
human  skin.  The  critic  asked  why  a  satin 
cushion  kept  at  a  temperature  of  about  98° 
would  not  give  the  same  thrill ;  and  the  question 
seemed  to  me  unfair  because,  in  the  very  passage 
criticised,  Mr.  Bain  had  sufficiently  suggested  the 
reason.  Taking  him  to  have  meant  —  as  he  must 
have  meant,  —  not  that  the  thrill  is  given  by  any 
kind  of  warmth  and  softness,  but  only  by  the 
peculiar  warmth  and  softness  of  the  human  skin, 
his  interpretation  can  scarcely  be  contested  by  a 
sarcasm.  A  satin  cushion  at  a  temperature  of 
about  98°  could  not  give  the  same  sensation  as 
that  given  by  the  touch  of  the  human  skin  for 
reasons  even  much  more  simple  than  Mr.  Bain 
implied,  —  since  it  is  totally  different  from  the 
human  skin  in  substance,  in  texture,  and  in  the 
all-important  fact  that  it  is  not  alive,  but  dead. 
Of  course  warmth  and  softness  in  themselves  are 
not  enough  to  produce  the  thrill  of  pleasure  con- 


266     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

sidered  by  Mr.  Bain :  under  easily  imaginable  cir 
cumstances  they  may  produce  something  of  the 
reverse.  Smoothness  has  quite  as  much  to  do 
with  the  pleasure  of  touch  as  either  softness  or 
warmth  can  have;  yet  a  moist  or  a  very  dry 
smoothness  may  be  disagreeable.  Again,  cool 
smoothness  in  the  human  skin  is  perhaps  even 
more  agreeable  than  warm  smoothness ;  yet  there 
is  a  cool  smoothness  common  to  many  lower 
forms  of  life  which  causes  a  shudder.  Whatever  be 
those  qualities  making  pleasurable  the  touch  of  a 
hand,  for  example,  they  are  probably  very  many 
in  combination,  and  they  are  certainly  peculiar  to 
the  living  touch.  No  possible  artificial  combi 
nation  of  warmth  and  smoothness  and  softnesss 
combined  could  excite  the  same  quality  of  pleasure 
that  certain  human  touches  give, —  although,  as 
other  psychologists  than  Mr.  Bain  have  observed, 
it  may  give  rise  to  a  fainter  kind  of  agreeable 
feeling. 

A  special  sensation  can  be  explained  only  by 
special  conditions.  Some  philosophers  would  ex 
plain  the  conditions  producing  this  pleasurable 
thrill,  or  frisson,  as  mainly  subjective  ;  others,  as 
mainly  objective.  Is  it  not  most  likely  that  either 
view  contains  truth;  —  that  the  physical  cause 


Frisson  267 

must  be  sought  in  some  quality,  definable  or  inde 
finable,  attaching  to  a  particular  touch ;  and  that 
the  cause  of  the  coincident  emotional  phenomena 
should  be  looked  for  in  the  experience,  not  of  the 
individual,  but  of  the  race  ? 

Remembering  that  there  can  be  no  two  tan 
gible  things  exactly  alike,  —  no  two  blades  of 
grass,  or  drops  of  water,  or  grains  of  sand,  —  it 
ought  not  to  seem  incredible  that  the  touch  of 
one  person  should  have  power  to  impart  a  sensa 
tion  different  from  any  sensation  producible  by 
the  touch  of  any  other  person.  That  such  dif 
ference  could  neither  be  estimated  nor  qualified 
would  not  necessarily  imply  unimportance  or 
even  feebleness.  Among  the  voices  of  the  thou 
sands  of  millions  of  human  beings  in  this  world, 
there  are  no  two  precisely  the  same  ; — yet  how 
much  to  the  ear  and  to  the  heart  of  wife  or  mother, 
child  or  lover,  may  signify  the  unspeakably  fine 
difference  by  which  each  of  a  billion  voices  varies 
from  every  other !  Not  even  in  thought,  much 
less  in  words,  can  such  distinction  be  specified ; 
but  who  is  unfamiliar  with  the  fact  and  with  its 
immense  relative  importance  ? 

That  any  two  human  skins  should  be  abso- 


268     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

lutely  alike  is  not  possible.  There  are  individual 
variations  perceptible  even  to  the  naked  eye,  — 
for  has  not  Mr.  Galton  taught  us  that  the  visible 
finger-marks  of  no  two  persons  are  the  same? 
But  in  addition  to  differences  visible  —  whether 
to  the  naked  eye,  or  only  under  the  microscope, 
there  must  be  other  differences  of  quality  de 
pending  upon  constitutional  vigor,  upon  ner 
vous  and  glandular  activities,  upon  relative 
chemical  composition  of  tissue.  Whether  touch 
be  a  sense  delicate  enough  to  discern  such  dif 
ferences,  would  be,  of  course,  a  question  for 
psycho-physics  to  decide,  —  and  a  question  not 
simply  of  magnitudes,  but  of  qualities  of  sensa 
tion.  Perhaps  it  is  not  yet  even  legitimate  to 
suppose  that,  just  as  by  ear  we  can  distinguish 
the  qualitative  differences  of  a  million  voices,  so 
by  touch  we  might  be  able  to  distinguish  qualita 
tive  differences  of  surface  scarcely  less  delicate. 
Yet  it  is  worth  while  here  to  remark  that  the 
tingle  or  shiver  of  pleasure  excited  in  us  by  cer 
tain  qualities  of  voice,  very  much  resembles  the 
thrill  given  sometimes  by  the  touch  of  a  hand. 
Is  it  not  possible  that  there  may  be  recognized,  in 
the  particular  quality  of  a  living  skin,  something 
not  less  uniquely  attractive  than  the  indeter- 


Frisson  269 

minable  charm  of  what  we  call  a  bewitching 
voice  ? 

Perhaps  it  is  not  impossible.  But  in  the  char 
acter  of  the  frisson  itself  there  is  a  hint  that  the 
charm  of  the  touch  provoking  it  may  be  due  to 
something  much  more  deeply  vital  than  any 
physical  combination  of  smoothness,  warmth 
and  softness, — to  something,  as  Mr.  Bain  has 
suggested,  electric  or  magnetic.  Human  elec 
tricity  is  no  fiction :  every  living  body,  —  even  a 
plant,  —  is  to  some  degree  electrical ;  and  the 
electric  conditions  of  no  two  organisms  would 
be  exactly  the  same.  Can  the  thrill  be  partly 
accounted  for  by  some  individual  peculiarity  of 
these  conditions?  May  there  not  be  electrical 
differences  of  touch  appreciable  by  delicate  ner 
vous  systems,  —  differences  subtle  as  those  in 
finitesimal  variations  of  timbre  by  which  every 
voice  of  a  million  voices  is  known  from  every 
other  ? 

Such  a  theory  might  be  offered  in  explanation 
of  the  fact  that  the  slightest  touch  of  a  particular 
woman,  for  example,  will  cause  a  shock  of  plea 
sure  to  men  whom  the  caresses  of  other  and  fairer 
women  would  leave  indifferent.  But  it  could  not 
serve  to  explain  why  the  same  contact  should 


270     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

produce  no  effect  upon  some  persons,  while  caus 
ing  ecstasy  in  others.  No  purely  physical  theory 
can  interpret  all  the  mystery  of  the  frisson.  A 
deeper  explanation  is  needed;  —  and  I  imagine 
that  one  is  suggested  by  the  phenomenon  of 
"  love  at  first  sight." 

The  power  of  a  woman  to  inspire  love  at  first 
sight  does  not  depend  upon  some  attraction 
visible  to  the  common  eye.  It  depends  partly 
upon  something  objective  which  only  certain 
eyes  can  see ;  and  it  depends  partly  upon  some 
thing  which  no  mortal  can  see,  —  the  psychical 
composition  of  the  subject  of  the  passion.  No- 
body  can  pretend  to  explain  in  detail  the  whole 
enigma  of  first  love.  But  a  general  explanation 
is  suggested  by  evolutional  philosophy,  —  namely, 
that  the  attraction  depends  upon  an  inherited  in 
dividual  susceptibility  to  special  qualities  of  femi* 
nine  influence,  and  subjectively  represents  a  kind 
of  superindividual  recognition,  —  a  sudden  wak 
ening  of  that  inherited  composite  memory  which 
is  more  commonly  called  "  passional  affinity." 
Certainly  if  first  love  be  evolutionally  explicable, 
it  means  the  perception  by  the  lover  of  some 
thing  differentiating  the  beloved  from  all  other 
women,  —  something  corresponding  to  an  in- 


Frisson  271 

herited  ideal  within  himself,  previously  latent, 
but  suddenly  lighted  and  defined  by  result  of 
that  visual  impression. 

And  like  sight,  though  perhaps  less  deeply,  do 
other  of  our  senses  reach  into  the  buried  past.  A 
single  strain  of  melody,  the  sweetness  of  a  single 
voice  —  what  thrill  immeasurable  will  either 
make  in  the  fathomless  sleep  of  ancestral  mem 
ory  !  Again,  who  does  not  know  that  speechless 
delight  bestirred  in  us  on  rare  bright  days  by 
something  odorous  in  the  atmosphere,  —  en 
chanting,  but  indefinable?  The  first  breath  of 
spring,  the  blowing  of  a  mountain  breeze,  a 
south  wind  from  the  sea  may  bring  this  emotion, 
—  an  emotion  overwhelming,  yet  nameless  as  its 
cause,  —  an  ecstasy  formless  and  transparent  as 
the  air.  Whatever  be  the  odor,  diluted  to  very 
ghostliness,  that  arouses  this  delight,  the  delight 
itself  is  too  weirdly  voluminous  to  be  explained 
by  any  memory-revival  of  merely  individual  ex 
perience.  More  probably  it  is  older  even  than 
human  life,  —  reaches  deeper  into  the  infinite 
blind  depth  of  dead  pleasure  and  pain. 

Out  of  that  ghostly  abyss  also  must  come  the 
thrill  responding  within  us  to  a  living  touch, — 
touch  electrical  of  man,  questioning  the  heart, — 


272     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

touch  magical  of  woman,  invoking  memory  of 
caresses  given  by  countless  delicate  and  loving 
hands  long  crumbled  into  dust.  Doubt  it  not ! 
—  the  touch  that  makes  a  thrill  within  you  is  a 
touch  that  you  have  felt  before, — sense-echo  of 
forgotten  intimacies  in  many  unremetubered 
lives! 


Vespertina  Cognitio 


Vespertina  Cognitio 


I 

I  DOUBT  if  there  be  any  other  form  of  terror 
that  even  approaches  the  fear  of  the  super 
natural,  —  and  more  especially  the  fear  of 
the  supernatural  in  dreams.  Children  know  this 
fear  both  by  night  and  by  day;  but  the  adult 
is  not  likely  to  suffer  from  it  except  in  slumber, 
or  under  the  most  abnormal  conditions  of  mind 
produced  by  illness.  Reason,  in  our  healthy  wak 
ing  hours,  keeps  the  play  of  ideas  far  above  those 
deep-lying  regions  of  inherited  emotion  where 
dwell  the  primitive  forms  of  terror.  But  even  as 
known  to  the  adult  in  dreams  only,  there  is  no 
waking  fear  comparable  to  this  fear,  —  none  so 
deep  and  yet  so  vague,  —  none  so  unutterable. 
The  indefiniteness  of  the  horror  renders  verbal 
expression  of  it  impossible;  yet  the  suffering  is 
so  intense  that,  if  prolonged  beyond  a  certain 
term  of  seconds,  it  will  kill.  And  the  reason 


276     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

is  that  such  fear  is  not  of  the  individual  life :  it 
is  infinitely  more  massive  than  any  personal 
experience  could  account  for;  —  it  is  prenatal, 
ancestral  fear.  Dim  it  necessarily  is,  because 
compounded  of  countless  blurred  millions  of  in 
herited  fears.  But  for  the  same  reason,  its  depth 
is  abysmal. 

The  training  of  the  mind  under  civilization  has 
been  directed  toward  the  conquest  of  fear  in  gen- 
eral,  and  —  excepting  that  ethical  quality  of  the 
feeling  which  belongs  to  religion  —  of  the  super 
natural  in  particular.  Potentially  in  most  of  us 
this  fear  exists ;  but  its  sources  are  well-guarded ; 
and  outside  of  sleep  it  can  scarcely  perturb  any 
vigorous  mind  except  in  the  presence  of  facts  so 
foreign  to  all  relative  experience  that  the  imagina 
tion  is  clutched  before  the  reason  can  grapple 
with  the  surprise. 

Once  only,  after  the  period  of  childhood,  I 
knew  this  emotion  in  a  strong  form.  It  was  re 
markable  as  representing  the  vivid  projection  of  a 
dream -fear  into  waking  consciousness ;  and  the 
experience  was  peculiarly  tropical.  In  tropical 
countries,  owing  to  atmospheric  conditions,  the 
oppression  of  dreams  is  a  more  serious  suffering 
than  with  us,  and  is  perhaps  most  common  dur- 


Vespertina  Cognitio          277 

ing  the  siesta.  All  who  can  afford  it  pass  their 
nights  in  the  country;  but  for  obvious  reasons 
the  majority  of  colonists  must  be  content  to  take 
their  siesta,  and  its  consequences,  in  town. 

The  West- Indian  siesta  does  not  refresh  like 
that  dreamless  midday  nap  which  we  enjoy  in 
Northern  summers.  It  is  a  stupefaction  rather 
than  a  sleep,  —  beginning  with  a  miserable  feeling 
of  weight  at  the  base  of  the  brain :  it  is  a  helpless 
surrender  of  the  whole  mental  and  physical  being 
to  the  overpressure  of  light  and  heat.  Often  it 
is  haunted  by  ugly  visions,  and  often  broken  by 
violent  leaps  of  the  heart.  Occasionally  it  is 
disturbed  also  by  noises  never  noticed  at  other 
times.  When  the  city  lies  all  naked  to  the  sun, 
stripped  by  noon  of  every  shadow,  and  empty  of 
wayfarers,  the  silence  becomes  amazing.  In  that 
silence  the  papery  rustle  of  a  palm -leaf,  or  the 
sudden  sound  of  a  lazy  wavelet  on  the  beach,  — 
like  the  clack  of  a  thirsty  tongue,  —  comes  im- 
'  mensely  magnified  to  the  ear.  And  this  noon, 
'  with  its  monstrous  silence,  is  for  the  black  people 
the  hour  of  ghosts.  Everything  alive  is  senseless 
with  the  intoxication  of  light ;  —  even  the  woods 
drowse  and  droop  in  their  wrapping  of  lianas, 
drunk  with  sun.  .  .  . 


278     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

Out  of  the  siesta  I  used  to  be  most  often  star- 
tied,  not  by  sounds,  but  by  something  which  I  can 
describe  only  as  a  sudden  shock  of  thought. 
This  would  follow  upon  a  peculiar  internal  com 
motion  caused,  I  believe,  by  some  abnormal  effect 
of  heat  upon  the  lungs.  A  slow  suffocating  sensa 
tion  would  struggle  up  into  the  twilight-region  be 
tween  half-consciousness  and  real  sleep,  and  there 
bestir  the  ghastliest  imaginings,  —  fancies  and 
fears  of  living  burial.  These  would  be  accom 
panied  by  a  voice,  or  rather  the  idea  of  a  voice, 
mocking  and  reproaching :  — "  '  Truly  the  light 
is  sweet,  and  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  for  the  eyes 
to  behold  the  sun.1  .  .  .  Outside  it  is  day, — 
tropical  day,  —  primeval  day !  And  you  sleep ! ! 
.  .  .  '  Though  a  man  live  many  years  and  rejoice 
in  them  all,  yet  — '  .  .  .  Sleep  on  !  —  all  this 
splendor  will  be  the  same  when  your  eyes  are 
dust !  .  .  .  '  Yet  let  him  remember  the  days  of 
darkness;  —  FOR  THEY  SHALL  BE  MANY!'" 

How  often,  with  that  phantom  crescendo  in  my 
ears,  have  I  leaped  in  terror  from  the  hot  couch, 
to  peer  through  the  slatted  shutters  at  the  enor 
mous  light  without  —  silencing,  mesmerizing;  — 
then  dashed  cold  water  over  my  head,  and  stag- 


Vespertina  Cognitio          279 

gered  back  to  the  scorching  mattress,  again  to 
drowse,  again  to  be  awakened  by  the  same  voice, 
or  by  the  trickling  of  my  own  perspiration  —  a 
feeling  not  always  to  be  distinguished  from  that 
caused  by  the  running  of  a  centipede !  And  how 
I  used  to  long  for  the  night,  with  its  Cross  of  the 
South !  Not  because  the  night  ever  brought  cool 
ness  to  the  city,  but  because  it  brought  relief  from 
the  weight  of  that  merciless  sunfire.  For  the 
feeling  of  such  light  is  the  feeling  of  a  deluge  of 
something  ponderable,  —  something  that  drowns 
and  dazzles  and  burns  and  numbs  all  at  the  same 
time,  and  suggests  the  idea  of  liquified  electricity. 

There  are  times,  however,  when  the  tropical 
heat  seems  only  to  thicken  after  sunset.  On  the 
mountains  the  nights  are,  as  a  rule,  delightful  the 
whole  year  round.  They  are  even  more  delight 
ful  on  the  coast  facing  the  trade-winds ;  and  you 
may  sleep  there  in  a  seaward  chamber,  caressed 
by  a  warm,  strong  breeze,  —  a  breeze  that  plays 
upon  you  not  by  gusts  or  whiffs,  but  with  a 
steady  ceaseless  blowing,  —  the  great  fanning 
wind-current  of  the  world's  whirling.  But  in  the 
towns  of  the  other  coast  —  nearly  all  situated  at 
the  base  of  wooded  ranges  cutting  off  the  trade- 


280     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

breeze,  —  the  humid  atmosphere  occasionally  be 
comes  at  night  something  nameless,  —  something 
worse  than  the  air  of  an  overheated  conservatory. 
Sleep  in  such  a  medium  is  apt  to  be  visited  by 
nightmare  of  the  most  atrocious  kind. 
My  personal  experience  was  as  follows:  — 


II 

I  was  making  a  tour  of  the  island  with  a  half- 
breed  guide ;  and  we  had  to  stop  for  one  night  in 
a  small  leeward -coast  settlement,  where  we  found 
accommodation  at  a  sort  of  lodging-house  kept 
by  an  aged  widow.  There  were  seven  persons 
only  in  the  house  that  night,  —  the  old  lady,  her 
two  daughters,  two  colored  female-servants,  my- 
self  and  my  guide.  We  were  given  a  single- 
windowed  room  upstairs,  rather  small, — otherwise 
a  typical,  Creole  bedroom,  with  bare  clean  floor, 
some  heavy  furniture  of  antique  pattern,  and  a 
few  rocking-chairs.  There  was  in  one  corner  a 
bracket  supporting  a  sort  of  household  shrine  — 
what  the  Creoles  call  a  cbapelle.  The  shrine 
contained  a  white  image  of  the  Virgin  before 
which  a  tiny  light  was  floating  in  a  cup  of  oil 


Vespertina  Cognitio          281 

By  colonial  custom  your  servant,  while  travelling 
with  you,  sleeps  either  in  the  same  room,  or 
before  the  threshold;  and  my  man  simply  lay 
down  on  a  mat  beside  the  huge  four-pillared 
couch  assigned  to  me,  and  almost  immediately 
began  to  snore.  Before  getting  into  bed,  I  satis 
fied  myself  that  the  door  was  securely  fastened. 

The  night  stifled ;  —  the  air  seemed  to  be  coag 
ulating.  The  single  large  window,  overlooking  a 
garden,  had  been  left  open,  —  but  there  was  no 
movement  in  that  atmosphere.  Bats  —  very  large 
bats,  —  flew  soundlessly  in  and  out;  —  one  act 
ually  fanning  my  face  with  its  wings  as  it  circled 
over  the  bed.  Heavy  scents  of  ripe  fruit  —  nau 
seously  sweet  —  rose  from  the  garden,  where 
palms  and  plantains  stood  still  as  if  made  of 
metal.  From  the  woods  above  the  town  stormed 
the  usual  night-chorus  of  tree-frogs,  insects,  and 
nocturnal  birds,  —  a  tumult  not  to  be  accurately 
described  by  any  simile,  but  suggesting,  through 
numberless  sharp  tinkling  tones,  the  fancy  of  a 
wide  slow  cataract  of  broken  glass.  I  tossed  and 
turned  on  the  hot  hard  bed,  vainly  trying  to  find 
one  spot  a  little  cooler  than  the  rest.  Then  I  rose, 
drew  a  rocking-chair  to  the  window  and  lighted  a 


282     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

cigar.  The  smoke  hung  motionless;  after  each 
puff,  I  had  to  blow  it  away.  My  man  had  ceased 
to  snore.  The  bronze  of  his  naked  breast  —  shin- 
ing  with  moisture  under  the  faint  light  of  the 
shrine-lamp,  —  showed  no  movement  of  respira 
tion.  He  might  have  been  a  corpse.  The  heavy 
heat  seemed  always  to  become  heavier.  At  last, 
utterly  exhausted,  I  went  back  to  bed,  and  slept. 

It  must  have  been  well  after  midnight  when  I 
felt  the  first  vague  uneasiness,  —  the  suspicion,  — 
that  precedes  a  nightmare.  1  was  half -conscious, 
dream -conscious  of  the  actual,  —  knew  myself  in 
that  very  room,  —  wanted  to  get  up.  Immedi 
ately  the  uneasiness  grew  into  terror,  because  I 
found  'that  I  could  not  move.  Something  un 
utterable  in  the  air  was  mastering  will.  I  tried  to 
cry  out,  and  my  utmost  effort  resulted  only  in  a 
whisper  too  low  for  any  one  to  hear.  Simultane 
ously  I  became  aware  of  a  Step  ascending  the 
stair,  —  a  muffled  heaviness ;  and  the  real  night 
mare  began,  —  the  horror  of  the  ghastly  magnet 
ism  that  held  voice  and  limb,  —  the  hopeless 
will-struggle  against  dumbness  and  impotence. 
The  stealthy  Step  approached,  —  but  with  lentor 
malevolently  measured,  —  slowly,  slowly,  as  if 


Vespertina  Cognitio          28} 

the  stairs  were  miles  deep.  It  gained  the  thresh- 
old,  —  waited.  Gradually  then,  and  without 
sound,  the  locked  door  opened;  and  the  Thing 
entered,  bending  as  it  came,  —  a  thing  robed,  — 
feminine, —  reaching  to  the  roof,  —  not  to  be 
looked  at!  A  floor-plank  creaked  as  It  neared 
the  bed;  —  and  then  —  with  a  frantic  effort  —  I 
woke,  bathed  in  sweat ;  my  heart  beating  as  if  it 
were  going  to  burst.  The  shrine-light  had  died : 
in  the  blackness  I  could  see  nothing ;  but  I  thought 
I  heard  that  Step  retreating.  I  certainly  heard 
the  plank  creak  again.  With  the  panic  still  upon 
me,  I  was  actually  unable  to  stir.  The  wisdom 
of  striking  a  match  occurred  to  me,  but  I  dared 
not  yet  rise.  Presently,  as  I  held  my  breath  to 
listen,  a  new  wave  of  black  fear  passed  through 
me;  for  I  heard  moanings,  —  long  nightmare 
moanings,  —  moanings  that  seemed  to  be  answer 
ing  each  other  from  two  different  rooms  below. 
And  then,  close  to  me,  my  guide  began  to  moan, 
—  hoarsely,  hideously.  I  cried  to  him :  — 

"  Louis !  —  Louis !  " 

We  both  sat  up  at  once.  I  heard  him  panting, 
and  I  knew  that  he  was  fumbling  for  his  cutlass 
in  the  dark.  Then,  in  a  voice  husky  with  fear,  he 
asked :  — 


284     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

"  Missie,  ess  ou  tanne  ?  "  [Monsieur,  est-ce  que 
vous  entendez  ?  ] 

The  moaners  continued  to  moan,  —  always  in 
crescendo:  then  there  were  sudden  screams, — 
"  Madame  /  "  —  "  Man^ell !  "  —  and  running  of 
bare  feet,  and  sounds  of  lamps  being  lighted,  and, 
at  last,  a  general  clamor  of  frightened  voices.  I 
rose,  and  groped  for  the  matches.  The  moans 
and  the  clamor  ceased. 

"Missie"  my  man  asked  again,  "ess  ou  te 
ouey?  "  [Monsieur,  est-ce  que  vous  1'avez  vue  ?] 

—  "  £0  ou  le  di  ?  "  [Qu'est-ce  que  vous  voulez 
dire  ?]  I  responded  in  bewilderment,  as  my  fingers 
closed  on  the  match-box. 

—  "  Fenm-Id?"    he    answered.  .  .  .  THAT 
WOMAN  ? 

The  question  shocked  me  into  absolute  immo 
bility.  Then  I  wondered  if  I  could  have  under- 
stood.  But  he  went  on  in  his  patois,  as  if  talking 
to  himself :  — 

—  "  Tall,  tall  —  high  like  this  room,  that  Zombi. 
When  She  came  the  floor  cracked.    I  heard  —  I 
saw." 

After  a  moment,  I  succeeded  in  lighting  a  can 
dle,  and  I  went  to  the  door.  It  was  still  locked, 
—  double-locked.  No  human  being  could  have 
entered  through  the  high  window. 


Vespertina  Cognitio          28$ 

— "  Louis ! "  I  said,  without  believing  what  I 
said,  —  "you  have  been  only  dreaming." 

—  "Missie,"  he  answered,  "  it  was  no  dream. 
She  has  been  in  all  the  rooms,  touching  people  1 " 

I  said,  — 

—  "  That  is  foolishness !    See !  —  the  door  is 
double-locked." 

Louis  did  not  even  look  at  the  door,  but 
responded :  — 

—  "Door  locked,   door  not  locked,    Zombi 
comes  and  goes.  .  .  .  I  do  not  like  this  house.  .  .  . 
Missie,  leave  that  candle  burning ! " 

He  uttered  the  last  phrase  imperatively,  with 
out  using  the  respectful  souple  —  just  as  a  guide 
speaks  at  an  instant  of  common  danger ;  and  his 
tone  conveyed  to  me  the  contagion  of  his  fear. 
Despite  the  candle,  I  knew  for  one  moment  the 
sensation  of  nightmare  outside  of  sleep!  The 
coincidences  stunned  reason;  and  the  hideous 
primitive  fancy  fitted  itself,  like  a  certitude,  to  the 
explanation  of  cause  and  effect.  The  similarity 
of  my  vision  and  the  vision  of  Louis,  the  creak 
ing  of  the  floor  heard  by  us  both,  the  visit  of  the 
nightmare  to  every  room  in  succession,  —  these 
formed  a  more  than  unpleasant  combination  of 
evidence.  I  tried  the  planking  with  my  foot  in 


286     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

the  place  where  I  thought  I  had  seen  the  figure : 
it  uttered  the  very  same  loud  creak  that  I  had 
heard  before.  "  fa  pa  ka  sam  reve,"  said  Louis. 
No !  —  that  was  not  like  dreaming.  I  left  the 
candle  burning,  and  went  back  to  bed  —  not  to 
sleep,  but  to  think.  Louis  lay  down  again,  with 
his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  cutlass. 

I  thought  for  a  long  time.  All  was  now  silent 
below.  The  heat  was  at  last  lifting ;  and  occa 
sional  whiffs  of  cooler  air  from  the  garden  an 
nounced  the  wakening  of  a  land-breeze.  Louis, 
in  spite  of  his  recent  terror,  soon  began  to  snore 
again.  Then  I  was  startled  by  hearing  a  plank 
creak  —  quite  loudly,  —  the  same  plank  that  I  had 
tried  with  my  foot.  This  time  Louis  did  not 
seem  to  hear  it.  There  was  nothing  there.  It 
-creaked  twice  more,  —  and  I  understood.  The 
intense  heat  first,  and  the  change  of  temperature 
later,  had  been  successively  warping  and  unwarp- 
ing  the  wood  so  as  to  produce  those  sounds.  In 
the  state  of  dreaming,  which  is  the  state  of  im 
perfect  sleep,  noises  may  be  audible  enough  to 
affect  imagination  strongly,  —  and  may  startle 
into  motion  a  long  procession  of  distorted  fancies. 
At  the  same  time  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  al- 


Vespertina  Cognitio          287 

most  concomitant  experiences  of  nightmare  in 
the  different  rooms  could  be  quite  sufficiently  ex 
plained  by  the  sickening  atmospheric  oppression 
of  the  hour. 

There  still  remained  the  ugly  similitude  of 
the  two  dreams  to  be  accounted  for;  and  a 
natural  solution  of  this  riddle  also,  I  was  able  to 
find  after  some  little  reflection.  The  coincidence 
had  certainly  been  startling;  but  the  similitude 
was  only  partial.  That  which  my  guide  had 
seen  in  his  nightmare  was  a  familiar  creation  of 
West- Indian  superstition  —  probably  of  African 
origin.  But  the  shape  that  I  had  dreamed  about 
used  to  vex  my  sleep  in  childhood,  —  a  phantom 
created  for  me  by  the  impression  of  a  certain 
horrible  Celtic  story  which  ought  not  to  have 
been  told  to  any  child  blessed,  or  cursed,  with  an 
imagination. 


m 

Musing  on  this  experience  led  me  afterwards 
to  think  about  the  meaning  of  that  fear  which 
we  call  "the  fear  of  darkness,"  and  yet  is  not 
really  fear  of  darkness.  Darkness,  as  a  simple 


288     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

condition,  never  could  have  originated  the  feel 
ing, —  a  feeling  that  must  have  preceded  any 
definite  idea  of  ghosts  by  thousands  of  ages. 
The  inherited,  instinctive  fear,  as  exhibited  by 
children,  is  not  a  fear  of  darkness  in  itself,  but 
of  indefinable  danger  associated  with  darkness. 
Evolutionally  explained,  this  dim  but  voluminous 
terror  would  have  for  its  primal  element  the  im 
pressions  created  by  real  experience  —  experience 
of  something  acting  in  darkness ;  —  and  the  fear 
of  the  supernatural  would  mingle  in  it  only  as  a 
much  later  emotional  development.  The  prime 
val  cavern-gloom  lighted  by  nocturnal  eyes;  — 
the  blackness  of  forest-gaps  by  river-marges, 
where  destruction  lay  in  wait  to  seize  the  thirsty ; 
— the  umbrages  of  tangled  shores  concealing 
horror;  —  the  dusk  of  the  python's  lair;  —  the 
place  of  hasty  refuge  echoing  the  fury  of  fam 
ished  brute  and  desperate  man;  —  the  place  of 
burial,  and  the  fancied  frightful  kinship  of  the 
buried  to  the  cave-haunters :  —  all  these,  and 
countless  other  impressions  of  the  relation  of 
darkness  to  death,  must  have  made  that  an- 
cestral  fear  of  the  dark  which  haunts  the  imagi 
nation  of  the  child,  and  still  betimes  seizes  the 
adult  as  he  sleeps  in  the  security  of  civilization. 


Vespertina  Cognitio          289 

Not  all  the  fear  of  dreams  can  be  the  fear  of 
the  immemorial.  But  that  strange  nightmare- 
sensation  of  being  held  by  invisible  power  ex 
erted  from  a  distance  —  is  it  quite  sufficiently 
explained  by  the  simple  suspension  of  will-power 
during  sleep?  Or  could  it  be  a  composite  in 
heritance  of  numberless  memories  of  having  been 
caught?  Perhaps  the  true  explanation  would 
suggest  no  prenatal  experience  of  monstrous 
mesmerisms  nor  of  monstrous  webs,  —  nothing 
more  startling  than  the  evolutional  certainty  that 
man,  in  the  course  of  his  development,  has  left 
behind  him  conditions  of  terror  incomparably 
worse  than  any  now  existing.  Yet  enough  of 
the  psychological  riddle  of  nightmare  remains 
to  tempt  the  question  whether  human  organic 
memory  holds  no  record  of  extinct  forms  of 
pain,  —  pain  related  to  strange  powers  once  ex- 
erted  by  some  ghastly  vanished  life. 


The  Eternal  Haunter 


The  Eternal  Haunter 


THIS  year  the  Tokyo  color-prints  —  Nishiki-& 
—  seem  to  me  of  unusual  interest.    They 
reproduce,  or  almost  reproduce,  the  color- 
charm  of  the  early  broadsides  ;  and  they  show  a 
marked  improvement  in  line-drawing.    Certainly 
one  could  not  wish  for  anything  prettier  than  the 
best  prints  of  the  present  season. 

My  latest  purchase  has  been  a  set  of  weird 
studies,  —  spectres  of  all  kinds  known  to  the  Far 
East,  including  many  varieties  not  yet  discovered 
in  the  West.  Some  are  extremely  unpleasant; 
but  a  few  are  really  charming.  Here,  for  example, 
is  a  delicious  thing  by  "  Chikanobu,"  just  pub 
lished,  and  for  sale  at  the  remarkable  price  of 
three  sen  I 

Can  you  guess  what  it  represents  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  a 

girl,  —  but  what  kind  of  a  girl  ?    Study  it  a  little. 

.  .  .  Very  lovely,  is  she  not,  with  that  shy 

sweetness  in  her  downcast  gaze,  —  that  light  and 

dainty  grace,  as  of  a  resting  butterfly  ?  .  .  .  No, 


294     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

she  is  not  some  Psyche  of  the  most  Eastern  East, 
in  the  sense  that  you  mean  —  but  she  is  a  soul. 
Observe  that  the  cherry-flowers  falling  from  the 
branch  above,  are  passing  through  her  form.  See 
also  the  folds  of  her  robe,  below,  melting  into 
blue  faint  mist.  How  delicate  and  vapory  the 
whole  thing  is  !  It  gives  you  the  feeling  of 
spring ;  and  all  those  fairy  colors  are  the  colors 
of  a  Japanese  spring-morning.  .  .  .  No,  she  is 
not  the  personification  of  any  season.  Rather 
she  is  a  dream  —  such  a  dream  as  might  haunt 
the  slumbers  of  Far-Eastern  youth ;  but  the  artist 
did  not  intend  her  to  represent  a  dream  .  .  .  You 
cannot  guess  ?  Well,  she  is  a  tree-spirit,  —  the 
Spirit  of  the  Cherry-tree.  Only  in  the  twilight 
of  morning  or  of  evening  she  appears,  gliding 
about  her  tree ;  — and  whoever  sees  her  must  love 
her.  But,  if  approached,  she  vanishes  back  into 
the  trunk,  like  a  vapor  absorbed.  There  is  a 
legend  of  one  tree-spirit  who  loved  a  man,  and 
even  gave  him  a  son ;  but  such  conduct  was  quite 
at  variance  with  the  shy  habits  of  her  race.  .  .  . 
You  ask  what  is  the  use  of  drawing  the  Impos 
sible  ?  Your  asking  proves  that  you  do  not  feel 
the  charm  of  this  vision  of  youth,  —  this  dream 
of  spring.  /  hold  that  the  Impossible  bears  a 


The  Eternal  Haunter 

much  closer  relation  to  fact  than  does  most  of 
what  we  call  the  real  and  the  commonplace.  The 
Impossible  may  not  be  naked  truth ;  but  I  think 
that  it  is  usually  truth,  —  masked  and  veiled,  per 
haps,  but  eternal.  Now  to  me  this  Japanese 
dream  is  true,  —  true,  at  least,  as  human  love  is. 
Considered  even  as  a  ghost  it  is  true.  Whoever 
pretends  not  to  believe  in  ghosts  of  any  sort,  lies 
to  his  own  heart.  Every  man  is  haunted  by 
ghosts.  And  this  color-print  reminds  me  of  a 
ghost  whom  we  all  know, —  though  most  of  us 
(poets  excepted)  are  unwilling  to  confess  the 
acquaintance. 

Perhaps  —  for  it  happens  to  some  of  us  —  you 
may  have  seen  this  haunter,  in  dreams  of  the 
night,  even  during  childhood.  Then,  of  course, 
you  could  not  know  the  beautiful  shape  bending 
above  your  rest :  possibly  you  thought  her  to  be 
an  angel,  or  the  soul  of  a  dead  sister.  But  in 
waking  life  we  first  become  aware  of  her  presence 
about  the  time  when  boyhood  begins  to  ripen 
into  youth. 

This  first  of  her  apparitions  is  a  shock  of 
ecstasy,  a  breathless  delight ;  but  the  wonder  and 
the  pleasure  are  quickly  followed  by  a  sense  of 


296     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

sadness  inexpressible, — totally  unlike  any  sadness 
ever  felt  before,  —  though  in  her  gaze  there  is 
only  caress,  and  on  her  lips  the  most  exquisite  of 
smiles.  And  you  cannot  imagine  the  reason  of 
that  feeling  until  you  have  learned  who  she  is,  — 
which  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  learn. 

Only  a  moment  she  remains ;  but  during  that 
luminous  moment  all  the  tides  of  your  being  set 
and  surge  to  her  with  a  longing  for  which  there 
is  not  any  word.  And  then — suddenly! — she 
is  not ;  and  you  find  that  the  sun  has  gloomed, 
the  colors  of  the  world  turned  grey. 

Thereafter  enchantment  remains  between  you 
and  all  that  you  loved  before,  —  persons  or  things 
or  places.  None  of  them  will  ever  seem  again  so 
near  and  dear  as  in  other  days. 

Often  she  will  return.  Once  that  you  have 
seen  her  she  will  never  cease  to  visit  you.  And 
this  haunting,  —  ineffably  sweet,  inexplicably  sad, 
—  may  fill  you  with  rash  desire  to  wander  over 
the  world  in  search  of  somebody  like  her.  But 
however  long  and  far  you  wander,  never  will  you 
find  that  somebody. 

Later  you  may  learn  to  fear  her  visits  because 
of  the  pain  they  bring,  —  the  strange  pain  that 
you  cannot  understand.  But  the  breadth  of  zones 


The  Eternal  Haunter         297 

and  seas  cannot  divide  you  from  her;  walls  of 
iron  cannot  exclude  her.  Soundless  and  subtle  as 
a  shudder  of  ether  is  the  motion  of  her. 

Ancient  her  beauty  as  the  heart  of  man,  —  yet 
ever  waxing  fairer,  forever  remaining  young. 
Mortals  wither  in  Time  as  leaves  in  the  frost  of 
autumn ;  but  Time  01  Jy  brightens  the  glow  and 
the  bloom  of  her  endless  youth. 

All  men  have  loved  her ;  —  all  must  continue  to 
love  her.  But  none  shall  touch  with  his  lips  even 
the  hem  of  her  garment. 

All  men  adore  her;  yet  all  she  deceives,  and 
many  are  the  ways  of  her  deception.  Most  often 
she  lures  her  lover  into  the  presence  of  some 
earthly  maid,  and  blends  herself  incomprehensibly 
with  the  body  of  that  maid,  and  works  such  sud 
den  glamour  that  the  human  gaze  becomes  divine, 
—  that  the  human  limbs  shine  through  their  rai 
ment.  But  presently  the  luminous  haunter  de 
taches  herself  from  the  mortal,  and  leaves  her 
dupe  to  wonder  at  the  mockery  of  sense. 

No  man  can  describe  her,  though  nearly  all  men 
have  some  time  tried  to  do  so.  Pictured  she  can 
not  be,  —  since  her  beauty  itself  is  a  ceaseless  be 
coming,  multiple  to  infinitude,  and  tremulous  with 
perpetual  quickening,  as  with  flowing  of  light. 


298     Exotics  and  Retrospectives 

There  is  a  story,  indeed,  that  thousands  of  years 
ago  some  marvellous  sculptor  was  able  to  fix  in 
stone  a  single  remembrance  of  her.  But  this 
doing  became  for  many  the  cause  of  sorrow 
supreme ;  and  the  Gods  decreed,  out  of  compas 
sion,  that  to  no  other  mortal  should  ever  be  given 
power  to  work  the  like  wonder.  In  these  years 
we  can  worship  only ;  —  we  cannot  portray. 

But  who  is  she?  —  what  is  she?  ...  Ah! 
that  is  what  I  wanted  you  to  ask.  Well,  she  has 
never  had  a  name;  but  I  shall  call  her  a  tree- 
spirit. 

The  Japanese  say  that  you  can  exorcise  a  tree- 
spirit,  —  if  you  are  cruel  enough  to  do  it,  —  simply 
by  cutting  down  her  tree. 

But  you  cannot  exorcise  the  Spirit  of  whom  I 
speak,  —  nor  ever  cut  down  her  tree. 

For  her  tree  is  the  measureless,  timeless,  billion- 
branching  Tree  of  Life,  —  even  the  World -Tree, 
Yggdrasil,  whose  roots  are  in  Night  and  Death, 
whose  head  is  above  the  Gods. 

Seek  to  woo  her — she  is  Echo.  Seek  to  clasp 
her — she  is  Shadow.  But  her  smile  will  haunt 
you  into  the  hour  of  dissolution  and  beyond, — 
through  numberless  lives  to  come. 

And  never  will  you  return  her  smile, — never, 


The  Eternal  Haunter         299 

because  of  that  which  it  awakens  within  you,  — 
the  pain  that  you  cannot  understand. 

And  never,  never  shall  you  win  to  her,  —  be 
cause  she  is  the  phantom  light  of  long-expired 
suns,  —  because  she  was  shaped  by  the  beating 
of  infinite  millions  of  hearts  that  are  dust,  —  be 
cause  her  witchery  was  made  in  the  endless  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  visions  and  hopes  of  youth, 
through  countless  forgotten  cycles  of  your  own 
incalculable  past. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

TTJTJ  ATJV 


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